


Hamilton For The Holidays

by anotherfngrl



Series: The Alexander Hamilton D/s Verse [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr is a good dad, Aftercare, Alexander Hamilton in Love, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington & Martha Washington's Adopted Son, Alexander Hamilton is a Little Shit, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens Fluff, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bisexual Eliza Schuyler, Bottom Thomas Jefferson, Breakfast, Dom Aaron Burr, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Flirting, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Good Parent Alexander Hamilton, Holidays, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, Indian Character, John Adams Being an Asshole, Lesbian Character of Color, Lesbian OC's, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Maria Reynolds is Maria Lewis, Mom Friend Aaron Burr, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protect Maria Reynolds, Spanking, Sub Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 77,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfngrl/pseuds/anotherfngrl
Summary: A collection of Hamilton prompts given to me by readers of my series. Christmas one shots full of fluff, feelings, and maybe some sexiness?These will use the characters as they appear in my D/s verse, but I will MARK any fic that is overtly BDSMy in the chapter title, so feel free to read for the pure fluff, because let's be real, that's mostly what we're gonna get.
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr & Theodosia Burr Alston, Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Alexander Hamilton & George Washington & Martha Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Maria Reynolds, Alexander Hamilton & Martha Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Philip Hamilton (1782-1801), Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Series: The Alexander Hamilton D/s Verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919644
Comments: 138
Kudos: 100





	1. Prompt List

**Author's Note:**

> OK, guys, I'm seriously not prewriting or planning anything, so this is going to be a wild ride! I need a few more prompts, so feel free to prompt things you'd like to see- I *am* accepting prompts outside the established relationships of the D/s verse.
> 
> I'm putting all of the prompts on a wheel, spinning it every day, and writing whatever it lands on!
> 
> The first chapter is the prompts that are on the wheel, as of today. I'll title each chapter with the prompt, so you can find things you like!

Schuyler Sisters and Gift Exchange

Revolutionary Set Snowball fight (+Wash?)

Jefferson&Alex Mistletoe/foe

George and Martha + miracle

Jefferson and Madison + Warmth

Sam/Dom, hot cocoa

Aaron/Alex hot chocolate

TJeff/Mads + Alex?

Maria and Eliza + ornament

Washington and Alex + Silent Night

Theo Jr. and Aaron + Baking

Alex+Washigtons Popcorn

Angelica+Aaron Icicles

Alex and Martha + cookies

Aaron and Alex + Winter Rose

Alex and Philip + Lullaby

Washington and Jefferson + List / Blue

John/Alex Fresh Snow

Theodosia (snr) and Aaron + ribbons

Eliza and Alex and Carriage Ride


	2. Eliza/Maria, Ornament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria thinks she might actually be looking forward to Christmas.
> 
> Genre: Feelings, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first day of Christmas, my advent fic gave to me.... feelings. Feelings and fluff.

Maria thinks she might actually be looking forward to Christmas.

She didn’t, before. When she was a child, it was just a day she was reminded how little she was worth in her family- a girl and a sub, doubly a burden. Her brothers might receive new clothing or practical gifts. Maria, on the other hand, was expected to wake up extra early and take care of all of the cooking and chores as her ‘gift’ to her family, since she had nothing of any real value to offer, according to her father.

Christmas with James was worse. Worse for the possibilities it offered, the way that sometimes the day started off sweet and she let herself hope. But no matter how Christmas with James began- curled up together in front of the fire admiring the tree or with screaming about how if she were just more careful with the household expenses, they’d have money for a proper Christmas- it always ended the same way: badly. Christmas, you see, is a holiday devoted to excess, and James never needed an excuse to overindulge.

Or to hurt her, when he’d been drinking.

Eliza assures her James will never hurt her again. She’s finally free- the price of her freedom was a steep one, but the Hamiltons insist they were more than happy to do whatever it took to rescue her from her husband. 

So now she’s a free woman. A free woman who is in love with another woman, the most amazing woman she’s ever met. Every day is like Christmas, the way she’d always imagined it, just getting to wake up next to Eliza.

Navigating the tangle of their relationships has been confusing- Alex and Eliza are still very much married, and absolutely devoted to each other. They’re also parents, to a precocious ten year old boy Maria is quickly learning to love for his own sake, not just his mother’s. But Eliza loves her, Maria is sure of it. And she isn’t some dirty secret- it was Alex who introduced them! And who, without fanfare, set up a second bedroom down the hall, which he sleeps in most nights, ceding the place in Eliza’s bed to her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Things in Maria’s life have never been easy, and so she’s constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s why she’s nervous about Christmas.

Christmas is a family holiday. Maria doesn’t know where her place in all of this is- do they expect her to make her own holiday plans? How many traditions have the Hamiltons created that she isn’t a part of? How will she know when to bow out? How angry will they be, if she doesn’t realize she’s intruding? Where does she _go,_ when they want to be alone for family celebrations? Her own family certainly won’t thank her for turning up uninvited.

A part of her hopes they intend to include her, but that part of her- the part that still hopes for the best- is very small, and very used to being beaten down. So she doesn’t ask, doesn’t get her hopes up. It will be wonderful to witness a loving family Christmas, even from the outside. Better than a miserable one of her own, certainly.

She tries very hard not to think about any of it as the holiday approaches, until Alexander takes Philip off one afternoon without explanation and returns with President Washington- and a Christmas tree.

“Thanks, sir,” Alex says as the older man helps him set it up in the sitting room, near the fire. It’s beautiful- lush and full. It will look wonderful draped in garland and ornaments. Maria can’t wait to see it.

“Of course, Alex,” the President tells him, patting Philip on the head as he says, “You were right, Philip was old enough to help this year. And getting trees for both houses, we needed him!”

Philip sees her hovering in the doorway and calls, “Maria! I got to use an _axe!”_ His voice is awestruck. For a city boy, unused to chopping his own wood, such work is an adventure.

Maria freezes when he calls to her, unsure what to do. She hadn’t meet to intrude.

“Ms. Reynolds.” The President bows. Maria doesn’t know what to make of George Washington. He’s practically Alex’s father, and the Washingtons have welcomed her warmly as a new part of their son’s family, even if they aren’t entirely sure what her place is. But he’s also the _leader of the nation. And he is standing in the sitting room where she curled up with her lover last night._

She curtsies. “Your excellency.”

“Please, call me George,” he tells her, smiling. “Now, I’m going to leave these two in your capable hands, and get the other tree home to Martha. You boys be good, now.” He hugs Philip and clasps Alexander’s shoulder before leaving.

“Time to decorate the tree?” Philip asks his father, once they’re alone.

“We should wait for your Mom to get home, but you can help me get the ornaments out and make garland while we wait!” Alexander promises him.

“I’ll be upstairs, if anyone needs me,” Maria says, excusing herself awkwardly. She doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, so she goes upstairs to she and Eliza’s room and gets the knitting she’s been working on- a cap for Philip, for Christmas. She curls up in the armchair in the corner of the room, determined to stay out of the way and do something productive with her afternoon.

The next thing she notices, beyond the rhythm of her knitting, is Eliza’s arms winding around her shoulders. “I missed you,” Eliza says, kissing her cheek.

“You were only out with Dolley for the afternoon,” Maria laughs as she twists to see her lover.

Eliza smiles, kissing her properly. “I know. I still missed you. What are you working on?”

“Remember I told you I was going to knit something for Philip, for Christmas? It’s going to be a hat.” She holds up the circle of soft blue wool to demonstrate.

“He’ll love it!” Eliza tells her. She hums as she moves around the room, changing into an older, more comfortable dress and hiding something behind her back as she sits down across from Maria, on the bed.

“It’s tree day,” she explains. Maria understands- Christmas trees can be messy, even before you cover them in popcorn and cranberries. “Alexander and Philip have been stringing garland,” she adds.

“That’s nice,” Maria says. “Philip was very excited that he got to help cut down the tree, this year.”

Eliza smiles softly. “That’s been one of George and Alex’s traditions since the War. They always pick the Christmas tree together, for Martha’s. This year, since we're all spending Christmas in New York, they decided to get ours as well.”

Maria smiles sadly. “That’s sweet. I’ve never really had any Christmas traditions worth sharing.”

“Well, I’ve got one,” Eliza’s gaze turns mischievous. “And I hope you’ll indulge me.”

“Of course,” Maria says gamely.

Eliza hands her a box-the thing she’d been hiding earlier, Maria realizes. “Go on, open it. It’s for tonight.”

Maria opens the box and gasps. Nestled inside is a beautiful red glass heart, hung on a piece of ribbon. An ornament, she realizes.

Eliza smiles. “We’ll make cookie ornaments and paper ones later. But each of us has an ornament on the tree that represents _us-_ Alex and I each got the other one, our first Christmas together. His is a beautiful glass ball, swirled with shades of green, for growth and change. Mine is a silvery star, because he says I’m the star that always guides him home. When Philip was born, Alex and I got a blue teardrop shaped one made- blue for all the possibilities in the sky. This is your first Christmas with us. I picked a heart for you because... Because I never thought I could be in love like this, Maria, not just warm and content but passionate and magical. There are gold flecks in it, if you hold it to the light- for that magic.”

Maria trembles, setting the precious box down beside her before she can drop it. Eliza is standing to meet her as she gets to her feet, arms open. Maria falls into them, overcome. She’s crying and kissing Eliza and telling her how much she loves her, all at once. But Eliza seems to understand, stroking her hair and kissing her right back.

Finally, Maria cups her love’s face gently and tells her, “It’s perfect.”

Eliza takes her hand, kissing her fingertips. “I hope so. You deserve perfect things.”

Maria laughs wetly. “I love you so much I don’t know how I’ll survive it.”

Eliza squeezes her hand. “But what a way to go,” she says, grinning. “Now, we’d better get downstairs and help the boys decorate, before Alexander forgets they’re supposed to be making garland and lets Philip eat all of the popcorn!”

Maria laughs, picking up the ornament box and clutching it protectively to her stomach as her lover drags her along by the hand. She couldn’t be happier.

Maria is _definitely_ looking forward to Christmas.


	3. Aaron and Alex, Winter Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron sees a flower seller on his way to work.
> 
> Genre: preslash, fluff

December 1786, New York City

It’s absolutely the perfect kind of winter day, Aaron thinks as he leaves his house one crisp December morning. It snowed a little last night, but this early in the morning the snow is still a white dusting in window corners and on street lights, not a mess of slush to wade through in the streets. The air is crisp and cold but not painful, and the sun shines brightly through the chill.

Since it’s a beautiful day, he’s up early, and the office isn’t far, he decides to walk to work. The fresh air will do him good, and it’s nice to see his neighbors. Besides, he’s working another case with Hamilton, which means long days shut up in the office pouring over documents and arguing the finer points of their defense- it’s probably the only sun, or exercise, he’ll get today.

He smiles and waves at Carl, who is setting out Christmas oranges at the market. He’ll have to remember to get a few for stockings. Theo loves oranges, more than the brightly colored penny candy they include alongside the citrus.

Bertram’s, the tailor’s shop a couple of blocks from his office, has put up a Christmas display in their windows. He considers getting a new suit- perhaps something a little more colorful. Even a festive waistcoat, for all of the holiday parties. But he just feels ridiculous, picturing himself in any of the ‘latest trends’. He’ll stick to his nice, safe, respectable navy. He is a lawyer, after all. He wants people to trust him.

The thought is still in his head, though, when he passes the flower stand and sees the buttonhole flowers available. Feeling self indulgent, he stops, picking one out and pinning it onto his jacket. He’s about to pay and leave when he spots the poinsettas. He should stop back by on his way home and get one for Theodosia. She loves the beautiful Christmas flowers. 

“How long will you be here, today?” he asks the flower girl.

“Until I run out,” she says, shrugging.

Aaron considers for a moment. “Then I’ll take a poinsettia, as well, for my wife,” he decides.

“Ooh, will the lady want a Christmas rose, as well?” she offers, showing him the beautiful stems.

Theodosia doesn’t often wear flowers unless they’re going somewhere special, so he’s about to decline when he’s suddenly struck by the image of one of the beautiful flowers on Alex’s lapel. The other lawyer often wears green- the contrast would be stunning.

“No, but I’ll take a buttonhole of those, as well,” he decides, accepting the flower before he can talk himself out of it. It’s just a friendly gesture, he insists. A little holiday cheer. He’s the one who’s looking at Alex all day, he deserves-

He stops that train of thought abruptly. He isn’t  _ looking at _ Alex all day, he’s working alongside him. Theodosia had asked if it would be too much- she remembers how he’d spoken of the other man, back during the war. Love for men they couldn’t have was what had initially brought them together, after all.

But things are different, now. Aaron respects his wife and Alexander’s far too much to do anything improper. He just… enjoys the other man’s company. Working together or just conversing, Alex has a rare talent for challenging him in one breath and making him laugh in the next.

Mind made up, Aaron takes his flowers with him and makes the short walk to his office. He’s sure someone will stop him to ask what he’s doing with two buttonholes as he makes his way to his own space.

Rather than worry with having his own storefront, he’s leasing an office in a building that rents out to multiple lawyers. It’s how he’d wound up with Alexander right next door- there’s plenty of legal work for a dozen lawyers, on their street alone. And co-counsel, a sounding board, or someone to borrow a book from is never far away in the space.

Alexander’s door is closed, when he passes it. The other man is probably already in there, writing away, like the words and ideas are something he has to purge from his system before it’s too late. Aaron admires the dedication, but worries about the desperation. Alex has been looking drawn, lately.

Aaron takes off his outerwear and puts Theodosia’s plant away for later, then gathers up his notes and materials to take to Hamilton’s office. The other man is such a whirlwind of papers and ideas that it’s just easier to work in his space, when they’re cooperating on a case.

On second thought, he steps back into the hall to ask the young man at the desk to brew him a pot of tea. Hamilton will have been drinking coffee since he got in, something soothing will be good for him.

“What time did Mr. Hamilton arrive this morning, John?” he asks when the young man brings him the pot.

John looks down, guilt spreading across his features. “He was here when I left last night and here when I got in this morning, sir. I honestly couldn’t say. I wasn’t late! But I’m not sure he went home at all.”

Well, that’s not going to work. Still, it’s not the boy’s fault. He smiles reassuringly. “He may not have. He’s a workaholic, John. Don’t judge yourself by him. No one here thinks you’re shirking your duties. We’ve all been very pleased with you,” he assures the young man, who smiles brightly, relieved.

If Alex may not have gone home… “Can you bring me a plate and a fork, too? And a tray?” he asks. Theodosia packed his lunch, and she’d put a large wedge of spice cake in for a treat. It will be better than nothing, and even if Alex did eat breakfast, it’s been several hours now if he beat John in- the boy comes early to make sure the fire’s warm when the lawyers arrive.

John brings the requested items promptly and with a smile, and Aaron sets up the tray with their tea and the cake. He keeps the buttonhole near his thumb, where he can camouflage it. This is a functional breakfast tray, not a romantic one, after all.

He adds his folder of papers to the tray and takes it down the hall, knocking on Alex’s office door.

“I’m working! What do you want?” Alex calls from inside.

“For you to open the door. My hands are full,” Aaron says mildly, not letting Alexander’s rudeness get a rise out of him.

Alex throws the door open with a huff “Oh, you’ve finally decided to join me this afternoon, have you?” he asks dismissively, going back to his desk without even looking at Aaron.

“It’s just gone eight o’clock. And I understand you beat John in,” Aaron says, trying to keep the scolding out of his tone. Alex needs a minder, sometimes.

“Didn’t go home,” Alex says, waving his hand absently as he resettles at his desk. “I was on a roll on something I’m working on for Washington.”

“Then it’s high time you took a break.” Aaron’s tone does not make it a request. Alex keeps writing, so he puts the tray down directly in front of the other man, heedless of whether he smudges the page he sets it on.

Alex scowls, looking up at him. “You’re going to sit here and have tea with me, because if you have any more coffee you’re liable to combust.” The whole room smells like the bitter brew, somehow. “And you’re going to eat that spice cake. Then, we’ll talk about the case.”

Alex glares mutinously but doesn’t argue. Aaron pours him tea with a serene smile, dosing it with the healthy amount of sugar Alex prefers and passing it over. He takes his own with the barest hint of sugar, inhaling the warm steam as he turns to find somewhere to sit.

The guest chair is full of books. Luckily, the settee has escaped today’s hurricane. “Join me,” he invites, going to sit on the far end.

Alex does. He even brings the cake, as well as his tea, and leaves his quill. Aaron smiles approvingly, and the fetching, exasperating sub looks away, suddenly shy.

“So I was thinking, for this defense we should-” Alex begins as he takes his seat.

“No,” Aaron says placidly.

Alex sputters at him. “What do you mean, no? You haven’t even heard my idea!”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant. But I said we weren’t going to discuss the case until you’d finished your breakfast. Now, sit here with me and let’s pretend we’re civilized. What are you and Eliza’s plans for Christmas?” Aaron asks, sipping his tea.

“We’re going to her fathers’,” Alex tells him, sounding unsure.

“That sounds nice. Will the whole family be there?” Aaron asks.

Alex unwinds a little under the gentle questioning. “Angelica and Peggy both. And they’ll compete the whole time for who can spoil Philip the worst!” he says with a smile, absently taking a bite of his cake.

Aaron continues his prompting questions and encouragements, and Alex tells him a story about the first time Philip had gone sledding with Angelica, when he was still quite young, and they’d tumbled so badly her hair had frozen from all the snow. He laughs and smiles as he retells it, not seeming to notice they’ve both finished their tea and the cake is long gone.

“What about you?” Alex asks when his story is over. “What are you and Theodosia’s plans?”

“Neither of us has much in the way of family. We usually stay here in the city, and make Christmas all about Theo. The Christmas Eve service at our church is always nice,” Aaron says with a smile. “The girls are already baking- Theodosia loves making holiday sweets, the house smells like a bakery for most of December.”

Alex looks down at his empty plate. “Was that one of her creations?” he asks, curious and a little hesitant.

“Yes. She always sends me to work with too many sweets, this time of year. I’ll start bringing enough to share, if you enjoyed it,” Aaron offers.

“That would be nice,” Alex says, shy again.

Just as abruptly as the hesitation appeared, it vanishes. “Anyway, we should get back to work,” Alex says, bounding to his feet. “John!” he yells.

Aaron frowns at him.

“I need him to come get the dishes,” Alex explains, defensive.

“Put the tray outside the door, like the rest of us do. We aren’t the only people here, and no one appreciates having their work interrupted by yelling,” Aaron scolds.

Alex’s shoulders rise to cover his ears. “Right. Of course. Sorry,” he says, going to do as he’s been told.

He takes Burr’s folder off the tray and goes still. “What’s this?” he asks.

He’s holding the rose.

Aaron clears his throat, suddenly nervous about the impulsive gesture. “I saw a flower seller on my way in this morning, and felt like a festive buttonhole. I thought that one would look nice on you,” he explains simply.

Alex smiles at him, holding the flower carefully in his hand, like it’s something precious. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I, um, don’t usually wear one…”

“I don’t either, but I’ve got it figured out. I’ll pin it on for you, then,” Aaron offers.

Alex doesn’t object, so he comes around the desk, carefully taking the flower from Alex’s delicate grip. He steps closer to the other man, breathing in his spiced, burnt coffee and spilt ink scent as he puts his hand between Alex’s lapel and his chest, lest he stab him with the needle.

It takes a bit of fussing to get it straight, but Alex remains still, watching him carefully. Finally, Aaron is happy with it. He straightens Alex’s lapels and brushes his shoulders off. “Very nice,” he says, nodding as he steps back.

Alex blinks up at him slowly. “Thank you,” he says, sneaking a look down at the little flower. “I like it.”

“Good,” Aaron tells him warmly. They share a soft smile. Alex looks away first, and finishes gathering up the tray. “Thank you,” Aaron tells him as he takes it outside. He can’t overtly praise Alex, it isn’t his place, but the sub does light up when he acknowledges that he’s done well or followed instructions. This time is no exception.

Breakfast and buttonholes handled, Aaron sets about clearing Alex’s guest chair so they can get to work. They’ve got a lot to cover, and it really is too nice of a day to spend inside. Maybe he’ll entice Alexander out for a break at lunch, for a walk and some food. It’ll do him good, and Aaron never has been able to stop looking after Alex. As evidenced by this morning, he rarely even tries to resist anymore. Alex is worth the trouble, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys I had no clue what my brain was going to throw at me, each day! Today, my brain interpreted the "and" instead of "/" in the prompt as Gen, so this is set pre-relationship. I hope you like it! I've still got a couple more spots for prompts, if there's anything you'd like to add to the list.


	4. Alex and Philip, Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Alex is going to get Philip all worked up playing in the snow before bed, Eliza thinks he should get him settled, too.
> 
> Genre: family, fluff

Eliza has been telling him he needs to get out more, enjoy the fresh air. Make time for exercise and fun, not just writing and politics.

So Alex would say it’s entirely her fault he dragged their five year old into the back garden for a twilight snowball fight! He was just doing what his wife asked.

“You said to spend more time outside!” he argues as she smacks him with the blanket she’s brought him.

“I did _not_ say ‘get Philip all worked up before bed’. Or ‘take our young son outside without proper coats in the middle of the night’, Alexander,” Eliza scolds, but she’s smiling fondly, and he smells cocoa, so he’s pretty sure he’s forgiven.

“This is why I need you. You’re at least half of my impulse control,” Alex tells her, leaning over Philip to steal a kiss as she dries the little boy’s hair. He’d fallen back into the snow after a snowball surprised him, and it’s wet now that the flakes are drying.

"Well, someone has to be the adult around here," she says with a fond smile. "Now I suppose I ought to get you two naughty boys warmed up- sitting room, please."

Alex shoots a wink at Philip, reassuring him as he teases, "You know what I think would help us warm up?"

Philip grins. "Ooh, I know! Cocoa? Can we, Mom?"

Eliza smiles fondly. "Already waiting for us. But if you want it to be hot, your better get moving."

Philip rushes to the sitting room, but Alex grabs Eliza's hand, pulling her into a hug before they join him. "Thank you for taking care of us," he says, nuzzling her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't think."

"It was wonderful to see you two laughing so freely. I just don't want either of you to get sick," Eliza says, stroking his cheek gently.

He kisses her palm. "With you looking after us? We could never."

"Come on, you, or Philip will drink all the cocoa without you," Eliza teases with a laugh, pulling him down the hall by his hand.

They settle on either side of Philip on the settee. He's waiting on them for cocoa, but he's bouncing in his seat with eagerness.

"Mama, the cocoa!" he reminds Eliza as she sits beside him.

Alex pulls his son close, Philip's tiny body is chilly against his side, and he rubs his hand up and down the little boy's arm, warming him. "Give Mama a minute, Philip. You'll get your cocoa!"

Eliza pours the little boy a cup and scoops some whipped cream. Alex smiles fondly. Of course Eliza saw them playing in the snow and not only made cocoa but whipped cream for it. His wife is a marvel.

She hands him a cup as well and he takes it with a grateful smile. He sips the cocoa and raises his eyebrows, surprised. Eliza apparently prepped his cup with a hefty dose of rum. He shoots her an appreciative wink, taking another sip.

A warm drink by the fire and his beloved family, Alex's night couldn't get any better. He pulls Philip more tightly against his side and Eliza pulls her feet up beside her, leaning against Philip's other side. Alex stretches his arm to wrap it around her as well.

They snuggle together and Philip sighs happily. Alex grins and presses a kiss to his head. "I like winter," Philip announces.

"It's nice," Alex agrees.

"Snowball fights, cocoa… and it's Christmas soon! How long now, Daddy?" Philip asks.

"Six more nights, little bit," Alex tells him.

"Can't it be now?" Philip whines, as Eliza takes his empty mug. He's obviously overtired.

"Not quite, sweetheart. We have to be patient," Eliza tells him.

"I don't want to be patient!" Philip grumbles. His usually sweet demeanor is surly with exhaustion.

"You know," Alex says, leaning in like he's got a secret, "It's six sleeps until Christmas. If you go to bed now, when you wake up it will only be five!"

Philip contemplates this option seriously, his lip sticking out in concentration. "But I'm not sleepy," he points out.

"Maybe if you get ready for bed, Daddy will sing to you until you're tired," Eliza suggests, offering him up without hesitation.

"Yeah!" Philip cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. His tiny elbow jams into Alex's solar plexus, and he wheezes as he responds.

"Sure, Philip. You go get changed for bed, and I'll come sing to you," he agrees.

Philip rushes upstairs, pleased.

"Thanks a lot," Alex tells his wife, teasing.

"You wind him up, you get to sing him down," Eliza tells him, unrepentant.

She does kiss him as she takes back his mug, standing up. "Get him to sleep. I'll clean up down here and head to bed."

Alex pulls her down into his lap, kissing her again. "Have I told you lately that you're the most perfect wife in the world?" he asks.

"Not since yesterday," Eliza says, pushing his hair back. "And I have a wonderful, chaotic husband who never lets me get bored."

He kisses her shoulder. "I'm glad you _enjoy_ my chaos. I feel like you're always cleaning up my messes."

"Nonsense. You know I love it," Eliza tells him, patting his chest. "Now, go get your son to sleep."

"Why is he _my_ son?" Alex asks, laughing as he follows her to his feet.

"Because you're the one who got him all worked up!" Eliza tells him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Now, go!"

Alex goes.

Upstairs, Philip is dressed for bed, but playing with his marbles.

"Bedtime, little bit," Alex tells his son.

Philip sighs a long suffering sigh. "Daddy, I'm playing."

Alex crouches. "And you can play more tomorrow. For now, put those away and get into bed."

"How come you can play whenever you want, but I always hafta go to bed?" Philip complains.

"Because I'm a grown-up. And you know what you need to do if you want to grow up big and strong like Daddy, right?" Alex reminds him.

"Go to bed on time an' eat lotsa vegetables. Growin' up is no fun, Daddy," Philip says sadly.

"I know, little bit. But let's get you into bed and I'll sing you a song, how does that sound?" He raises the blankets and Philip slides into bed.

"Can it be a Christmas song, Daddy?" Philip requests. His eyes are already drooping, as he lies down.

"Sure, little bit. I think I can do that," Alex says, sitting beside his son and running his fingers through Philip's hair.

He begins to sing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Philip hums along at first, reaching for Alex's free hand and playing with his fingers, apparently intent on staying awake as long as possible.

Quickly, though, he begins to doze off, pulling Alex's hand closer to his chest as his humming gets more and more sluggish. As he falls asleep, he rolls onto his side, pulling his father's hand under his cheek like a stuffed animal.

Alex continues humming until he's sure his son is completely asleep. Then, he tries to pull his hand away, but Philip clings tight. Rather than wake him up, Alex twists over his shoulder to blow the lamp on the nightstand out.

Once the room is dark, he tries again to free his hand. When Philip only clings tighter, he decides to give it a few minutes. As he falls further asleep, he'll let go, Alex is sure.

He decides he might as well get comfortable and stretches out beside Philip, curling his arm up over the pillow to card through the little boy's hair as he sleeps. Alex yawns, snuggling closer to Philip. He'll reclaim his hand and get to bed soon.

It's the last thought he has before he falls asleep. 

When Alex wakes up the next morning, there's a blanket spread across him. He smiles, looking across the bed, and sees Eliza curled up on Philip's other side, under the covers. It's far from the first time she's come to check on him and found him asleep with Philip, and it won't be the last, he's sure.

For now, he yawns and goes back to sleep, content to bask in the warmth of his family on a cold morning for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right at the edge of on time, at 11:30. I'm living dangerously, here. I'll try to post at more reasonable times from here on out. Had a game night right after I got home from work that went later than expected.
> 
> Much love! And I could still use a couple more prompts, if anyone can think of anything else they want.


	5. Theodosia(sr)/Aaron, Ribbons (overt D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron helps his wife get ready for a party.
> 
> Genre: fluffy D/s, steamy-not-smutty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I marked this one overt D/s because their orientations are definitely on display and a big part of this story. That said, we are still firmly in the 'fluffy, lovey dovey' fic territory, and there's still no actual sexual content in this one. So it's safe to read even if you'd rather give a pass to any sex!
> 
> Also: I decided to make Theodosia Indian (real Indian, not Native American) because of her more directly British family history and the fact that India had already begun being colonized at the time. Also the fact that India gave the world shampoo, which seemed relevant. I like this version of her, but I'd love to hear your opinions. What do you think Theodosia should look like? What should her background be? Please, let me know if I should keep this version of her for the larger D/s verse!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Theodosia gets a letter over breakfast and frowns.

“What’s wrong, love?” Aaron asks her, concerned.

“Anne isn’t feeling well, so she and William are going to stay home from the party tomorrow,” Theodosia says, disappointed. Aaron knows she likes to have at least one good friend at any social event they attend- his wife enjoys the parties, but she’s a bit shy and does better with friends around her for support.

“I’m disappointed, obviously, but I also don’t know what I’m going to do about my hair,” Theodosia tells him. “We were going to get ready together.”

“Can’t Beth do it? Doesn’t she usually?” Aaron asks. Beth is their housekeeper, and she’s absolutely invaluable. He doesn’t know what they’d do without her.

“I told her she could leave after dinner today for the weekend, so she has time to get home to Pennsylvania to see her family for Christmas, remember?” Theodosia tells him.

“Right.” Aaron frowns, thinking.

“Daddy does  _ my _ hair sometimes,” Theo pipes up.

Aaron smiles at the little girl. She does have a point. He’d learned to do her hair because it didn’t seem fair for Theodosia to take on all of the responsibility of getting the little girl dressed and ready every day. The elaborate styles Theodosia wears out will be more difficult, but doable.

“And I can do yours, too,” he tells his wife. The more he thinks about the idea, the more he likes the thought of doing this for her. She’s going to this party for him, because society and appearances are important to him. He can make sure she looks and feels her best.

“No, Aaron, really, it’s fine, I need to wash my hair tonight, anyway, I’ll just wear it down tomorrow. I can take care of it myself,” Theodosia demurs.

“I’ll handle it,” he tells her firmly. She looks surprised, then smiles.

“Alright,” she agrees.

“I’d like to do this for you,” Aaron tells her softly.

“Daddy’s going to make you so pretty, Mom!” Theo announces enthusiastically.

“I’m sure he will, princess,” Theo says, smiling at him across the table.

Aaron scoops up a final bite, then stands. “I’d better get to work,” he says, kissing the top of Theo’s heads. “I’ll see you lovely ladies tonight.”

“Bye, Daddy!” Theo tells him.

Theodosia stands up, retrieving his lunch from the buffet table in the corner and giving it to him with a kiss. “Have a good day, my love.”

Aarom pulls her close for a brief second before taking his lunch and heading out the door. His wife packs him food every day, but it never stops making him feel loved and cared for. Even though they have Beth to do the cooking, Theodosia bakes, and she’s the one who makes sure that he has a lunch to take to the law office every day. It’s just her way of taking care of him.

And doing her hair is going to be his opportunity to take care of her. He thinks about what he knows, from doing Theo’s hair: Theodosia was right to mention washing her hair tonight, because it can take a long time to dry such thick, long hair. He’ll help her with that when they get Theo to bed this evening. And he knows how to braid, even tight against the scalp. Theo loves fun, twisty braids in her hair. But her mother’s hair is much straighter than Theo’s- Theodosia’s beautiful thick black hair is a testament to her Indian roots, while Theo’s is somewhere in between her mother’s silky tresses and the tight curls that run in Aaron’s family, with slightly looser, gorgeous curls that have a mind of their own, much like the little girl whose head they’re on.

He wonders if the difference in texture will change the process of braiding, much. He’s also not sure what styles are currently in fashion, for grown women as opposed to little girls. He’s going to need an expert’s help.

With that in mind, he hurries to his office, sending off a note to Aurinda, to see if she might be willing to give him a few minutes in the afternoon. The boy who takes the note is pleased to accept one of Theodosia’s ginger cookies as a thank you for a job well done, in addition to the coin he receives in payment.

Then, Aaron sits down to work. He pushes himself to finish early, so that he can get his research done this afternoon. Luckily, he isn’t in court today and only has one morning meeting with a client.

He’s found himself spending less and less time in court. Not because he  _ can’t, _ but because he’d much rather find a successful compromise between his client and the opposition, and a negotiation, for civil cases, can often reach a better resolution than dragging everyone in front of a judge. Almost no one ever gets everything they want in court, but he does his best to see that everyone gets what they really need out of the agreements. Opposing counsel and their client are rarely bad people- they’re just people with conflicting needs.

Of course, sometimes he’s defending someone who really needs help, from someone terrible. Those are the exceptions, and he’ll gladly go to court and tear apart someone who deserves it. It’s more than worth the time and the stress to protect those who can’t protect themselves.

Taking care of his community is why Aaron wanted to become a lawyer, after all, and he feels like he’s succeeding in that goal, with his practice.

He’s stopped for lunch when Aurinda’s return note comes back, with a different boy. It agrees to see him in the afternoon, and says she’s happy to help. Aaron smiles, seeing the delivery boy eyeing the cookies on his desk, and offers him one.

Page fed and plan in place, he powers through the rest of the work on his desk after lunch, feeling confident that he can walk away at the end of the day and go into the weekend knowing his clients are taken care of and he’s prepared to continue moving their cases forward next week.

He packs up his things a couple of hours earlier than usual, heading to Aurinda’s home eagerly. She’s a distant cousin of Theodosia’s, who they see occasionally, but she’s also the only older relative either of them has, anymore, and they’re both very fond of her. They all have dinner a few times a year- he’ll be back in her lovely home next weekend for a pre-Christmas meal between family.

He’s escorted into the sitting room, where she’s waiting. “Aaron,” she says warmly, smiling and standing to hug him.

He hugs her, kissing her wrinkled cheek and taking her hand. “Aurinda, I swear you grow more beautiful every time I see you,” he says.

“You terrible boy, you’ll make me blush,” she says, swatting his hand as he releases her. “Now, what’s this about needing my help?”

“Theodosia and I are attending a party tomorrow, and her plans for doing her hair fell through,” he begins.

Aurinda sighs. “I would help if I could, Aaron, but my hands aren’t what they used to be- I can’t braid tightly anymore,” she tells him sadly.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to do it,” Aaron tells her, “I was going to ask you to teach me how.”

She beams at him. “You are wonderful. Theodosia matched well. Much better than that first husband of hers,” she says, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “Now, what do you need from me?”

“Advice on style, and any tips for Theodosia’s hair specifically. I’m used to braiding Theo’s,” he explains.

“A father who helps care for his daughter. Will wonders never cease?” Audrina teases him. “I can do that. How confident are you in your braiding? I was thinking something simple, but if you’ve been working on Theo’s hair already, you may be able to handle something a bit more elaborate.”

“I want her to feel like the most beautiful woman in the room,” Aaron tells her.

“I think we can manage that,” Audrina says with a smile. “Do you know how to french braid?” she asks.

“Keeping it tight to the scalp? Yes,” Aaron says.

“Good. then there are many things we can do. You will need flowers. And…” she trails off.

“What?” Aaron asks, surprised.

“Let me fetch something. And I’ll see if my girl, Emma, has a moment to be your practice model,” Audrina declares, getting up from the settee and leaving the room.

She returns a moment later with a box, followed by Emma, who bears a tea tray. ‘Girl’ is something of a misnomer- Emma is almost Audrina’s age, and she’s supposedly a servant, but she’s very much a part of Audrina’s life. The older woman is a switch, who, as a woman, had been trapped in an unhappy marriage to a Dom. She’d fallen in love with her maid, an unwed switch, and after her husband died, they’d begun living as a couple- not openly, Audrina would balk at the thought of a scandal. But happily, in their own little bubble.

“Emma,” Aaron greets warmly. She does very little ‘servant’ work, now- they have a young man who answers doors and cleans. So he hadn’t seen her when he arrived. “You’re looking well.”

“Your Great Aunt and I have had a wonderful start to winter. These old bones don’t do well with the cold, but I’ve always loved this time of year. The milder weather this year is perfect,” she says, smiling. “Now, I understand you need someone to practice hair styling on! Well, I haven’t had a fancy updo in ages. I’m happy to help,” she tells him as she pours them all tea.

“Thank you, Emma. I appreciate both of your help,” Aaron says, taking his tea. She always has an innate ability for knowing how someone prefers their tea, when she meets them. And she never forgets. He takes a sip. “Perfect, as always,” he tells her.

Emma smiles. “It’s not hard, taking care of people. Now, let’s see what Audrina’s got planned for us.” She sits on the arm of the settee beside her partner, looking on with interest.

Audrina has placed the box in front of her on the coffee table. She speaks as she reaches for it. “These were made from sari silk. I collected them years ago, but Nathaniel never liked me to wear them. What color is her dress?”

As she speaks, she’s opened the box and pulled out the most beautiful ribbons Aaron has ever seen. The ribbons are lovely- the colors shifting tonally instead of solid. He reaches out to touch one. Beautiful.

“She’s wearing a dark plum,” he says.

Audrina reaches into the box, her hand hesitating between a few different ribbons before she pulls out a bunch of deep, beautiful gold colored ones. “These, I think. For the contrast.”

She puts them aside. “But first, you need to practice. And Emma loves pink.” She hands him a pink bunch of ribbons. “Now, we’re going to work on a crown braid, first. Braid the ribbon in with one of the strands of hair. You’ll knot it in- not to the first strand of hair you braid, but so you can pick it up with the second one,” Audrina advises.

It takes him a couple of tries to get a knot that’s firm enough to stay. He doesn’t want to hurt Emma. Finally, he does, and he practices integrating the strand with the ribbon without letting the knot show. Once he’s got the hang of it, he’s able to complete the crown braid fairly easily- he’s done it on Theo before.

“Beautiful,” Audrina declares. “I think we should try it again, with two contrasting ribbons. We can add in a green or a teal, for Theodosia. For Emma, I think purple.” She pulls out a lovely lavender and hands it to him.

It’s a little trickier to hide the two knots and keep both ribbons showing in the braid, but he picks it up quickly. He agrees with Audrina, the two ribbons make it much prettier.

“That’s lovely,” she says when he’s done, going to get a small mirror to show Emma. Emma gasps.

“I haven’t felt this pretty in a long time,” she says, smiling softly at them both.

“Now,” Audrina says, “That’s perfectly beautiful on its own. Add some flowers in the back and you’ve got something special. Or, we can try to get a little more involved. What do you think?”

“I’d like to try whatever else you’re thinking. I can always do this one, if I can’t get the hang of it,” Aaron decides.

She walks him through doing the crown braid with only half of the hair. The rest, he twists into a second braid, curling across Emma’s head behind the crown braid and ending with the length of hair twisted into a braided bun.

“Little flowers between the braids and in the bun, of course,” Audrina says. “But I think you’ve got it!” she reaches out to loosen the braids. “One more try.”

He does it again perfectly, sitting back with a smile. “I think that’ll work.”

Emma looks at herself in the small mirror. “She’ll love it.”

Audrina smiles at both of them. “Perfect. Now, we’ll let you get home- and don’t forget these.” She hands him the golden and vivid green ribbons. He takes them gratefully, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, Audrina.” He bends down to clasp Emma’s hand. “And Emma. You’ve both been so helpful.”

He walks home with ribbons in his pocket and a smile on his face. He’s really looking forward to doing this for Theodosia.

After a wonderful dinner with his two favorite girls, they settle in the sitting room, Aaron reading the paper, Theodosia knitting, and Theo playing quietly. When it starts getting late, Theodosia says she’s going to get Theo ready for bed, then wash her hair.

“I’d like to wash it for you,” Aaron tells her.

“I can-” she starts to demur.

“I know,” he assures her. “But I’d like to do it myself.”

While she’s making sure Theo is tucked in and ready for bed, Aaron fills the bathtub with hot water, adding in some scented bath oil he’d picked up on his way to Audrina’s. Soon, the room is full of sweet smelling steam.

Theodosia smiles as she comes in. “You didn’t have to go to all of this trouble,” she says.

“Let me take care of you.” It’s a command, and an invitation.

She nods, then waits to hear what he wants from her next. Aaron has considered his plan carefully. Now, he gently helps his wife out of her clothes, stroking and kissing her skin as it’s exposed. As soon as she’s undressed, he helps her into the warm water, kneeling beside the tub to reach her more easily.

He takes his time bathing her, treasuring every inch of beautiful skin as he washes it with a sweet smelling soap that matches the bath oil. “You are beautiful,” he tells his wife. “Every inch of you is precious to me.”

She purrs, sinking further into the water.

By the time he’s finished washing Theodosia’s body, he’s worried the water is chilling. Luckily, he’d hung another pot of water to warm right before she came in. He kisses Theodosia deeply before standing up.

“I’m going to go get more warm water. You just relax,” he says softly. She’s barely awake when he returns, gently scooting her legs towards her body so he can pour the hot water in without worrying about scalding her. He swirls his hand through the tub, mixing in the warm water.

“Now, let’s take care of that hair of yours,” he says. Theodosia smiles at him lazily. She’s drawn to warmth like a cat, and she’s luxuriating in it now. His chest feels full of warmth, seeing her so content.

He carefully lifts her head away from the rim of the tub, filling a cup with water from the bath and pouring it over her hair. He goes slowly, making sure to wet all of her hair without letting any droplets drip down her face.

Once her hair is wet, he pours the soapberry extract she uses to clean it over the long tresses. He massages it into her scalp, carefully supporting Theodosia’s head as her neck goes loose, the more he works his fingers against her head. He massages her scalp far longer than he needs to, to work the shampoo in, just for the way it makes her relax.

When she’s practically asleep in his arms, Aaron uses one hand to support her head and takes the cup in the other, rinsing her hair with just as much care as he’d used wetting it. When he’s done, he folds a small towel and places it on the rim of the tub before gently resting her head there.

“Now, let’s let you soak a few minutes,” he says fondly. “I’ll be right back.”

He returns to the sitting room, where he’d sat two towels and Theodosia’s nightgown to warm in front of the fire. He takes them both now, returning to his wife. Theodosia is pliant as he helps her out of the water, allowing him to dry her off with soft, gentle strokes. Once she’s mostly dry, he wraps her up in the towel and finger combs her hair out, before twisting it into a second towel. Then, he helps her into her nightgown.

“Thank you,” she says softly, once he’s settled the soft fabric into place. It’s the first words she’s spoken since he took charge of the bath.

He rewards her with a kiss. “You’re very welcome. It’s a pleasure to make you feel good, and take care of you. Like you always take such good care of me and our daughter.”

Theodosia is mostly asleep, so he takes her upstairs, settling her into bed with a warmer before going downstairs to clean up. With Beth gone for the weekend, he has to clean up the bath by himself, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t want Theodosia worrying about it tomorrow.

Once he’s done, he extinguishes the lamps and the sitting room fire. The fire in their room is already burning- he’d set it while getting the bath ready. So it’s simple now to change into his nightshirt and slide into bed beside his sleeping wife.

Theodosia turns to him immediately, even in sleep, and wraps herself around him, her head coming to rest on his chest. He kisses her hair, falling asleep to the comforting sound of her soft, steady breathing.

The next day, they have a lovely family morning, including a lunchtime walk through town, where he picks up a lovely bunch of white flowers. Most of them will look wonderful on their dining room table. The rest will adorn Theodosia’s hair tonight.

Theodosia makes cocoa when they get home. They all enjoy it together, warming up, then she takes Theo to gather her bag- she’s made arrangements for the little girl to stay with Audrina and Emma for the night, since Beth is off and she didn’t want to leave Theo home alone all evening.

“You’re a marvel,” Aaron tells her, kissing her goodbye. “I hadn’t even realized Beth would be gone, or Theo would need company.”

“It’s what I do,” Theodosia tells him. “Now, Theo, kiss Daddy goodbye!”

Theo holds her arms up. She’s really too big to carry around anymore, but he can pick his baby girl up for a hug. And he does, squeezing her tight. “I’ll miss you, Daddy,” she tells him.

“I’ll miss you, too. But you’ll have a wonderful night with Aunt Audrina and Aunt Emma, and we’ll see you tomorrow!” he promises. “Now, big kiss? Since I’ll have to go so many hours without a Theo snuggle?”

The little girl laughs, peppering his face with kisses. He kisses her back, squeezing her tightly for just a moment longer before putting her down.

“I’ll be back soon, so we can get ready,” Theodosia assures him.

“Take your time. I’m just going to get a little reading done,” he assures her.

In reality, he spends the time the girls are gone cutting the flowers and getting them ready and laying out the ribbons he’ll need for his wife’s hair. He’s got everything set up at her dressing table when she returns.

“I’ll let you dress and do your makeup before I get to work on your hair,” he tells her.

Theodosia looks over the table and starts to ask what he’s planning, he can tell. But she clearly remembers the night before and smiles. “Of course, dear,” she says, stopping to cup his cheek fondly as she passes him instead of asking questions.

They dress companionably. Aaron is ready first, and he settles in the chair in the corner of their bedroom and watches his wife do her makeup.

She’s stunning, in a plum evening gown that’s cut wide across her shoulders, with golden embroidery that goes around the neck and down the front where it opens to reveal the underskirt. Her simple gold jewelry highlights her natural beauty, She powdered her face and chest lightly with sweet smelling powder before she got dressed, and now she adds the tiniest amount of rouge to her cheeks, spreading red color across her lips as well. She lines her eyes with a dark kohl, then turns to him.

“Beautiful,” he says, rising and moving to stand behind her. “You are a vision. Are you ready for me to do your hair?”

“Yes, love,” Theodosia says, squeezing the hand that’s resting on her shoulder. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“I’ve learned a few new tricks. Now, be still for me, please,” he says, and reaches for the first ribbons.

Theodosia only watches in the mirror as he takes her brush and begins running it through her waterfall of dark hair. He brushes it smooth and shiny before anything else, then knots the ribbons into her hair and begins to braid. She looks on, surprised, and lowers her head slightly as he checks the knots, making it easier for him to work. He tugs firmly as he goes, keeping the hair taut, but is careful not to hurt her- Theodosia absolutely loves having her hair played with, he knows, so he takes the opportunity to give her pleasure as he works.

By the time her hair is braided, his beautiful wife is dangling on the edge of subspace. He settles his hands gently on her shoulders, looking at her through the mirror. “You’re so patient for me, thank you,” he tells her. She glows at the gentle praise. “I’m going to add some flowers, now, and then we’ll be done. Can you work on coming back up for me, while I do?” he asks.

“Yes, love,” she tells him sweetly.

“No rush. We have time. I thought you might need a little time after we finished,” he assures her, placing the flowers as he speaks.

When he finishes with the final step, she meets his eyes in the mirror, back to herself. “Thank you. I feel… I feel beautiful. I feel like I’m  _ yours, _ even more than usual. Everyone will be able to tell, even if they’d never guess what you did for me…”

He kisses her neck. “I’m glad.”

“You knew I was worried about going, without Anne for company, didn’t you?” she asks.

Aaron smiles. “And what if I did? My wife is going to be the loveliest woman in that room, and she’s also going to know I’m with her, even if I’m pulled away,” he says, squeezing her shoulders.

“You’re like magic. Thank you. It’s exactly what I needed,” Theodosia tells him.

Aaron offers her his hand, and she stands. The carriage is waiting downstairs to take them to the party, and they’ll have a lovely night. Theodosia will have the feel of his hands working over her hair to keep with her, as she circulates, and an icebreaker, telling the other ladies who compliment her hair that he did it. And when they get home, they’ll have the house to themselves, so he can show her just how beautiful she is and she can express just how much she appreciates her husband’s loving devotion. It’s a lovely way to enjoy a Christmas party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought last night I'd spin for today after midnight, write a quick fic before bed, and focus on the million things on my to do list for today. Instead, I wrote my longest advent fic so far in the late night and early afternoon. I hope you enjoy! This one was really fun for me.


	6. Alex and Maria, Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria is having a Bad Day. Alex helps.
> 
> Warning: Description of PTSD in this chapter. It's not named, because it didn't have a name yet, but Maria has had a scare. Don't read this if hearing about somebody else's symptoms will upset you.
> 
> Genre: Hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys, you may have noticed it's technically tomorrow. This is Saturday's fic, posted in the wee hours of Sunday morning.
> 
> I'm having a bad PTSD day, myself. This isn't even from the prompt list- I have a few less prompts than days, so I let myself create my own prompt of what I needed to read, today. Maria has someone looking after her because, frankly, I need someone looking after me. I wanted to write something today, even though it's a rough day, because I so enjoy getting to share my silly little stories with you guys. If you feel like it, I'd love it if you dropped a comment about what you're thinking of the series so far- or there's even room for a few more prompts! Thanks. Love you all!

He doesn’t know what happened- that isn’t important.

All Alex knows is that Maria came home, and she wasn’t okay. She was panicky, skittish, fidgeting. She had trouble following a conversation, and she was watching the doorway to the room. He actually got up, thinking she saw something, before he realized what was up. The way she tensed when he stood between her and the entrance to the house was the final clue.

Maria was having a Bad Day.

Bad Days could be triggered by many things. Loud noises, the smell of ale (Alexander has switched over entirely to wine and liquor), large men standing too close, crowds, and other things they haven’t worked out yet. But on a bad day, Maria is afraid, even if there’s no reason. Especially if there’s no reason- if there’s a reason, they can  _ solve _ it. But there’s nothing anyone can do when her body, or her mind, tell her she’s in trouble even when she’s perfectly safe.

Alex wishes Eliza hadn’t taken Philip to accompany Peggy up to their father’s for the weekend. She’s a more comforting presence, as someone Maria feels totally safe and loved with and as a fellow woman. But Alex does the best he can.

“Come on,” he says, “Let’s go to the sitting room.” He walks past her, not getting too close, and leads the way so she can follow him with her eyes. In the sitting room, he builds a fire. Maria is gripping her own arms like she’s cold, and he knows she finds warmth soothing. It’s a chilly day, anyway. The fire will be nice.

“Why don’t I have a look around? Make sure the house is locked up and secure. We wouldn’t want any teenagers making trouble or anything,” Alex offers.

“You don’t need to-” Maria starts.

“I’d like to,” Alex assures her.

He stops in the kitchen to have the housekeeper put together a tray- tea, plenty of sugar, and a few cookies to tempt her. Sugar seems to help, as the first waves of panic wear off. While the tea is being brewed, Alex checks the whole house as promised. He makes sure all of the windows and the door are bolted, and gives instructions for them to remain closed for the day. He lets the housekeeper know he won’t be receiving visitors- if someone needs him about an urgent legal or political matter, they’ll have to leave a card and he’ll speak with them tomorrow. He won’t bring men Maria doesn’t know through the house on a Bad Day.

He gathers the soft quilt off of Eliza and Maria’s bed, spritzing it with Eliza’s perfume. With his wife out of town, her scent is probably the best he can do for comforting Maria. In his own experience, scent is a powerful anchor and comfort. He brings it and a warm sweater of his own down- his sweater will be too big on Maria, and she likes to bury herself in the warmth, on a day like this.

He collects the tea and rejoins her in the sitting room. She immediately pulls on his sweater, and as she does he builds her a nest of blankets and pillows in front of the fire, with she and Eliza’s afghan on top.

“You don’t have to fuss over me,” Maria tells him.

“I already told you, I want to. I have bad days too,” Alex says. “Do you want me to stay or go?” he asks.

She curls up in her blanket nest and pats the spot beside her. “Stay,” she requests.

He brings the tea tray, setting it beside them, and settles beside her. He fixes her cup with too much sugar and holds it out. “You would’ve made somebody a good mother,” Maria tells him with a smile.

Alex grins, looking down. He’s never sure what to do to help- it feels good to know he’s succeeded, today. “I’ve got all the family I need,” he says, smiling at her. “And we take turns, doing the looking after.”

“Well, if it’s my turn to be looked after, would you read to me?” she asks, her voice small.

Alex is happy to oblige. He makes the mistake of walking behind her to the bookcase, wincing when she stiffens. He finds  _ Songs of Innocence and Experience _ and takes it back to the nest, careful to walk in front of her so she can see him coming this time.

“I like that one,” Maria says, when he settles back down with the book. “They’re cheerful. And hopeful.”

Most of Blake’s poems in this book are. And Alex will skip over the less cheery ones, today. Maria deserves something hopeful to listen to. With that in mind, he begins to read.

Gradually, Maria scoots closer to lean into the crook of his shoulder. He shifts to hold her, letting her rest against him, and she watches the fire. He’s just finished one of the poems when she speaks.

“I feel so stupid,” Maria confesses.

Alex marks his place with his finger and closes the book. “Why?”

“Nothing  _ happened. _ Well, something could’ve, but that didn’t frighten me,” she tells him.

“I’m afraid I’m not following,” Alex admits.

“I went out to pick up new gloves for all of us, now that it’s properly cold. You’ve lost yours somewhere, and mine are worn thin. Philip’s hands have grown. And I just thought Eliza would enjoy a pretty new pair.” Alex makes understanding noises, but lets her ramble on about the gloves. Maria will get there in her own time.

“Well, when I was halfway to the store, I nearly got run down by a carriage. It turned a corner going far too fast. And that made me jump, but it happens. The trouble was that a gentleman walking along nearby grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back out of harm’s way.”

Maria looks down, frustrated and annoyed with herself, and continues, “That’s what has me so spooked. A kind stranger who  _ rescued _ me today.”

“Fear isn’t always rational,” Alex reminds her. “I’m an adult, and wind still makes me nervous.”

“I know. I just hate it when things that I know logically are absolutely safe make me feel so shaky,” Maria tells him. “I wish I could make it stop.”

“I wish I could stop it for you,” Alex agrees, leaning a little more heavily into her. “But the best we can do is spend bad days together, and look after each other.”

Maria smiles softly. “Then take care of me, and give me another ginger cookie,” she teases.

Alex does, and they spend the rest of the afternoon by the fire, either reading or watching the flames or talking. Even if Maria weren’t having a Bad Day, it’s the perfect way to spend the first truly cold day of the season. Warm and safe, with someone he cares about. Alex can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.


	7. Jefferson/Madison, Warmth (D/s!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James isn't expecting him. But one snowy night, Thomas wanders over from the executive mansion, needing him.
> 
> Genre: PWP?, D/s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, guys, this is the first openly sexual of the advent fics. If that's not your cup of tea, give it a pass. Just wanted to make sure everyone knew what they were getting into!

He's not expecting him.

Yes, it's one of Thomas's nights, in the schedule they've worked out between the three of them. But his sub had told him to go home, still pouring over letters and paperwork about ongoing negotiations. James had resigned himself to an evening alone, knowing Dolley would be out with friends.

There are worse fates. He's lucky to have two subs who love him completely, enough to be willing to share him, even. A night alone every once in a while won't hurt him.

Wandering the street of DC in a near blizzard just might kill Thomas, though.

The knock on the door surprises him. It's late for unexpected visitors, and he can't imagine who it could be. But he puts down his whiskey and his book and goes into the hall to see who's at the door as William opens it.

It's Thomas, shivering and covered in snow. There's no carriage- he's clearly walked from the executive mansion. A pleasant walk on a crisp fall evening, to be sure. But a downright dangerous one on a night like this one.

"I'll handle this, you take his things and get a hot bath started," he tells William, dismissing him to return to his duties. "What are you doing? You look frozen solid," he asks Thomas, pulling him inside and divesting him of his snowy outerwear, which William takes to dry out before retreating.

Thomas's skin is grey with cold and there are ice flakes forming in his hair. "I couldn't think. I went for a walk to clear my head, and I wound up here," he explains.

"Foolish man. You'll freeze to death." James rubs Tom’s arms as he scolds, trying to restore warmth to his sub. "Come on, we'll get you in front of the fire while we wait for the water to be ready."

He leads Thomas into his study, stripping him of his outer layers until he's in shirt and breeches, continuing to rub the other man's skin briskly.

"Ow," Thomas complains faintly. "Not s-so hard-d."

If his teeth are chattering, he's warming up. James continues. "I wouldn't complain if I were you, or I just might find a different way of warming parts of you up after the bath," he threatens.

Thomas, freezing to death or not, clearly likes the sound of that. "Promise?" he purrs.

"Yes, I think so," James agrees, looking over his sub critically. Warming him up is the first priority, but whatever is stressing him out so badly he's gone wandering in the snow, he needs a chance to relax and unwind as well. “Once you’re warm,” he decides.

Tom turns toward him, stepping close to speak into James’ ear. “You know what would warm me up?” he asks, playfully teasing. His hand slides down James’ arm and they’re so close they’re almost cheek to cheek.

“I bet a good spanking would,” James says mildly. It sounds like a threat, but it isn’t- they don’t bother with simple spankings for punishment, as Thomas finds them more embarrassing than effective. They can, however, be a lot of fun.

Thomas closes the distance between them, throwing an arm around James’ shoulders. “You know, you might be right,” he says with a throaty laugh. His whole front is pressed against James, and he does seem to be warming up.

Thomas goes in for a kiss, but James stops him with a finger on his chin. “Warm first, then fun. Though I really shouldn’t indulge you at all, when you’ve done something so needlessly dangerous,” he tells his sub.

Tom looks down. “It wasn’t intentional,” he admits. “I just needed to get moving. And I needed you. I was too worked up to think about it.”

James strokes his hair softly. “I understand,” he says, his hand falling warm to the back of Tom’s neck. “I know how much pressure you’re under, and I’m not upset with you. I’ll take care of you,” he promises, ghosting a kiss over Thomas’ temple. “Starting with getting you warm.”

He releases his sub, going to get the afghan Dolley keeps in the sitting room. “Come here,” he says, sitting in front of the fire with his legs spread.

Thomas doesn’t hesitate to settle between his thighs, leaning back to rest his weight on his Dom’s chest. James covers both of them with the afghan. “Body heat will warm you up as well as the fire,” he explains.

Tom snuggles closer to him. “Then I suppose I’ll find a way to deal with it,” he says. The words puff across James’ neck, where his sub has buried his face. James keeps his arms locked around Thomas, fingers stroking gently at his side.

They watch the fire in meditative silence. Thomas doesn’t need distracting, or a space to vent. His brain runs too quickly to easily be distracted for long, and venting would only work him up. In a mood like this, he needs quiet, and stillness, and the safety of knowing James has him well in hand.

After a few long moments, James taps his sub’s shoulder. “The bath should be ready. Let’s get you up.”

Thomas stands without protest, stretching out but immediately folding himself back around James once they’re both standing. “Love you, Jemmy,” he says.

He’d been more stressed than James realized, if he’s slipping down so quickly. He mentally shifts his plans for the evening to adjust for that realization. Then, James kisses his sub’s hair. “I love you too, Tom. Now, let’s get you in that bath, okay?”

The water is hot, with just the faintest trace of steam coming off of it. And William is a brilliant butler and has thought to lay out a robe for Thomas to change into afterwards and a pot of a warm drink James sniffs and is pleased to discover is cocoa. This is why he brings William with them from Virginia- the man’s thought of everything.

Now, James undresses Thomas, gently, carefully, touching newly bared, still chilled skin but not teasing. Not right now. Right now, he’s just taking care of his sub.

Thomas is languid under the attention, letting James move him around as needed to reach buttons and balancing his hands on James’ shoulders when the Dom bends down to remove his breeches and stockings. As soon as Thomas is undressed, James gets him into the warm water, not wanting him to become chilled.

Tom’s hair has mostly dried from the snow, so James pulls it back away from his face and safely out of range of the water. No use getting it wet, only to have him get chilled as it dries. James pours Tom a cup of cocoa and passes it over, and the sub sips it as he watches his Dom work.

Once Thomas is settled in the warm water, James washes his sub less because Thomas is dirty than to anchor him in soothing touch, and quietly narrates his actions as Tom watches, lulled by the gentle care.

When the water is cooled and Thomas is clean, James helps him out of the bath, drying his sub carefully and wrapping him up in the warm robe Thomas keeps at their house for when he stays over. When he reaches across Thomas’ shoulder to unfasten his hair, his sub leans up to steal a kiss.

James gives him a quick one, but leans away when Thomas tries to deepen it. “Patience,” he tells his sub, who glares adorably. “Now, why don’t we move this somewhere a little more comfortable?”

Thomas has a bedroom in the Madison household, and when they spend the night together James joins him there, out of respect for Dolley. He takes his sub there now, divesting him of his robe once they’re alone in the room.

“Now, what shall I do with you?” he muses aloud, his tone teasing.

“I have some ideas,” Tom tells him, smirking.

“I’m sure you do,” James agrees. “But I didn’t ask for them.” Tom shivers slightly. He does like it when James doesn’t let him play up. Sometimes, Tom likes to provoke him. Sometimes, the sub likes to be good for him, too, and other times dynamic hardly factors into it at all and it’s just two men who’ve loved each other for most of their lives enjoying one another. But other times, especially when his own head is chaotic, Thomas likes him calm, cool, almost disinterested.

Of course, nothing about Thomas has ever been anything less than captivating for James. But he feigns it well enough, and Tom’s obvious enjoyment makes it worthwhile.

With that thought in mind, he tells his sub, “Let’s have a look at you, then,” circling him slowly and pausing to stroke his inner arm, the hollow of his spine above his backside, the curve of his hip. He doesn’t speak as he looks and touches, just ‘hmms’ quietly.

Thomas manages to stand still under the scrutiny at first, though he’s practically vibrating with it. When the hand trailing lightly along his hip dips toward his pubic crease and then away, though, he _growls_ , turning toward his Dom.

James pulls back immediately. “We’ll have to do something about those manners,” he says mildly. “Follow me.”

He sits down on the side of the bed, raising an eyebrow expectantly at Thomas. His sub knows exactly what he intends.

“Hardly a deterrent,” Thomas tells him with a huff of breath. He does not, however, get into position.

“Purpose is my job, obedience is yours,” James tells him firmly. Thomas relaxes a little at the reminder, kneeling beside him on the bed and letting James help him lie over his Dom’s lap.

If this were actually punishment, he’d bend Tom over something. But for play, he wants his sub to be able to feel him, and wants the freedom to tease as well as spank. He adjusts his position slightly, so that his leg will provide friction for Thomas's member, which is quickly developing an interest in the procedings.

The first spank is hard, jolting Tom forward slightly. He gasps, not when the spank lands but when he’s pushed forward into James’ lap. James smiles evilly. Perfect.

He continues, spanking hard enough to push Thomas forward with every stroke. He pauses occasionally to touch the reddening skin, though he doesn’t do anything so nice as rub- he grips a handful, watching Thomas’ lovely skin pale where his fingers dig in, rakes his fingers along a cheek, even pinches the delicate spot where the crease of Thomas’ cheeks ends in thigh.

The last one makes his sub jerk, his whole body going tense. James releases him, going back to slapping the red cheeks crisply. “Still moving around, I see. We’ll have no more of that,” he instructs.

Thomas _is_ still moving, though, his hips pushed forward by every harsh stroke. He’s also gasping now, his back shiny with sweat. James’ free hand strokes down the sub’s spine, admiring the gentle play of muscle. Thomas whines.

He continues the relentless spanking until his sub can bear no more, hips twisting as he grinds down deliberately on James’ lap, where there’s no mistaking the motion.

“I believe I told you to be still,” he scolds. “Ten for disobedience, then I think we’ll try something else, since this clearly isn’t making an impression.”

Tom whines. Words aren’t expected of him during a scene, unless asked a direct question. It’s a way of helping his brain shut off and a good gauge of where his head is. If he’s talking, he’s not down yet. So the wordless response makes James smile- he’s got his sub right where he wants him.

He makes the ‘disobedience’ spanks hard, exactly how he knows Thomas wants them. By the end of the ten, he’s grinding against his Dom’s lap continually, not just with the strokes, and practically sobbing with need.

James doesn’t wait or instruct when he’s finished, just lifts Tom’s torso so he’s no longer trapped underneath him and twists them both, so that Thomas lands on the bed on his back, with his Dom moving to straddle his thighs.

Tom stares up at him, needy and desperate. Perfect.

“Now that we’ve got you all warmed up, we might as well put you to good use,” James tells his sub. He reaches into the nightstand for the pot of slippery lubricant. He scoops some out onto his fingers, rubbing it between them before circling Thomas’ hole, teasing him.

Tom whines desperately, but he doesn’t try to push for more. Perfect. “Good boy,” James tells him, rewarding him with a finger pressing inside of him, stretching. Almost immediately, he takes it out and adds another, scissoring them and opening his sub up quickly enough to sting but careful to stretch him enough that he won’t be hurt by what comes next.

“I think you’re ready,” he decides, catching Thomas’ eyes with a piercing look to make sure he agrees. Thomas just stares up at him, wanting. 

He deliberately hasn’t undressed, and now he unbuttons his braces to pull down his breeches and underwear just enough to expose himself. He takes more lubricant and slicks himself up, groaning. Having Thomas grinding across his lap was not an unexciting activity for him either, however tightly he’d controlled it.

He doesn’t control himself now, thrusting into his sub hard. He throws one of Tom’s legs over his shoulder, leaning over his sub and bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Thomas’ shoulders, his sub’s body bent nearly in half. He steals Tom’s mouth in a bruising kiss as he continues to plow into his submissive with all of his strength. Tom arches into him, meeting each thrust eagerly.

His sub is just at the edge, he only needs a little help to push him over. James braces on one hand, pulling the other back to scrape his nails across Thomas’ red skin. His sub arches one final time, shuddering as he climaxes.

The way Thomas’ body tenses with pleasure pushes James over the edge only a moment later, as he thrusts deeply into his sub one more time. When he finishes, he pulls out, letting Thomas’ leg fall before collapsing onto his sub and rolling to lie beside him.

Thomas curls into him, huffing gently into his neck.

Now that the scene is over, James drops his pretense of disinterest. “You,” he says, kissing his sub’s neck. “Were incredible.” He kisses him again. “As always.” Another kiss to Thomas’ shoulder. “You are amazing,” he adds, kissing Thomas’ collarbone, then stretches up to kiss his sub’s inviting mouth.

They kiss for a while, then James shifts to get up. Thomas reaches for him, and he shushes his sub, petting his hair. “I’ll be right back, just going to grab a damp cloth,” he assures Thomas.

He quickly pours some water from the pitcher over a soft cloth, wringing out the excess and warming it in his hand as he returns to the bed. He cleans off the messy remains of their lovemaking, wiping the sweat off of Thomas’ body as well. His sub’s skin is warm and soft under his hands, a far cry from the chilled mess he’d been when he first arrived. His eyes, too, are clear and sated now, not glassy with stress.

He helps Thomas under the covers, throwing the cloth onto the vanity before rejoining the other man, shifting to wrap his arms around his sub.

“Thank you,” Thomas says softly.

James kisses his head. “Feeling better?”

“Much.” Thomas snuggles more tightly against him. “That was exactly what I needed. Even when I can’t explain, you always know,” he marvels.

“We make a great team,” James agrees. Tom hums happily, already drifting off. It doesn’t take long for James to follow him into slumber.

Before he does, he brushes Thomas’ hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “You are exquisite, and I adore you,” he tells his sleeping submissive, before finally resting himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was very different from what I've been writing, but fun in its own way. I hope you enjoyed it! I do still need a couple more prompts, ideally, if anybody has thought of anything they'd like to see, and as always, I love and appreciate comments!


	8. Aaron/Alex, Hot Chocolate (D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy night in for Aaron and Alex.
> 
> Genre: fluffy sex? Sexy fluff? D/s happening a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I raised my rating for the last chapter and now I'm apparently determined to earn it.
> 
> If you don't want to read sex, stop after the hot chocolate spills.

Alexander Hamilton is a marvel of motion and energy. He’s passion made flesh, in all pursuits. Politics, writing, love. No one does it as intensely as Alex.

It’s what made Aaron first fall in love with him. That energy, that dedication. The youthful exuberance that has grown into mature enthusiasm but never lost its spark. He loved Alex as an insecure boy, certain in not himself but his convictions and beliefs. And he loves him even more now, as an occasionally still insecure man, becoming certain of himself and proud of the convictions he’s spent decades fighting for.

He adores fighting by Alexander’s side, in a courtroom. Hearing him defend a client with so much passion and determination, willing to do absolutely anything to see justice served. So hot headed in the face of injustice, in fact, that he’ll stake his reputation, his sleep schedule, even his health on seeing anything he believes is wrong undone.

He respects the man Hamilton made himself into, in political circles. The idea man everyone flocked to, who spoke and wrote so persuasively he established the first political party- and so divisively that the second one was created to oppose him. Even when he doesn’t agree with Hamilton, he admires the man’s arguments, his logic, and above all his dedication.

But what he loves most is the life he’s built alongside Alex. The nights of spirited debate across the dinner table, the adventurous trips to Hercules’ tailor’s shop, where Alex talks him into outfits he would never have dared consider, much less wear, before. The moments when Alex catches his eye across the room and he can barely wait to get the other man alone and rip his clothes off. The nights of work lost because Alex wandered into his office, sat down on his desk, and gave him something much better than a quill to hold.

Aaron doesn’t think he’ll ever be done discovering Alexander Hamilton. And every discovery pushes him further and further into the kind of soul searing, once in a lifetime love he’d only ever dreamed about.

He thinks this might be the side of Alex that he loves most, though.

It’s quiet, tonight. Neither of them has any pressing work, and the weather is too cold and dreary to go out. Instead, they’re curled up on the couch, Aaron pressed to the arm with his legs up beside him and Alex stretched out on top of him. They’re drinking cocoa, neither of them feeling the need for anything stronger, as justification or social lubricant. Not with each other.

Alexander’s head pressed against his chest is one of his favorite feelings in the world. Aaron kisses the top of the other man’s head, overcome by a wave of affection.

Alex makes an inquiring noise, tilting his head up to see Burr.

“Nothing, just thinking,” Aaron says, answering the unspoken question.

Alex stretches lazily against him. “About what?”

“You, mostly.” Alex laughs. “It’s true. You’re amazing, and brilliant, and sometimes I just sit back and bask in how much I love you,” Aaron tells him seriously.

Alex’s forehead screws up in a surprised frown. “Are you making fun of me?” he asks.

“No,” Aaron assures him immediately. “I am completely serious.”

“You sit there… and think about me.” Alex is baffled.

“Specifically, I was thinking about how I fell in love with your passion and your energy, but some of my favorite moments with you are the ones where we can just be still together, like this one,” Aaron explains.

Alex kisses him. He tastes like hot chocolate. “You’re weird,” he informs his Dom.

“I know,” Aaron says with a laugh. He strokes Alex’s face with the backs of his fingers. “I can’t help it, I’m crazy about you.”

His sub grins, taking a sip of his drink. “Then finish your cocoa and show me,” he teases.

Aaron will do him one better. He divests Alex of his cup, setting both of them aside on the floor, out of reach. Then, he lifts Alex and turns them toward the back of the settee, until he’s the one on top, straddling his sub.

“Let’s see… why don’t we start with purely physical appreciation?” he growls. “I love the little curl your hair gets when it’s been wet, and how, no matter how you wear it, when you get really into something, some of it winds up in your eyes.”

He strokes Alex’s hair away from his face as he says it, tugging softly. Alex arches his neck, enjoying the touch. Aaron takes advantage, leaning in to kiss his throat. “I love,” he says, between kisses, “That, after everything, you’ll bare your throat to me. You aren’t afraid I’ll turn around and hurt you- or you’re crazy enough to risk it, anyway.” Aaron continues to kiss and lick at Alex’s throat as he speaks.

“I thought we were, ohhh, sticking to physical appreciation?” Alex reminds him.

Aaron smirks evilly. “Did you want me to stop?”

“No!” Alex says immediately, wrapping his arms around Aaron to hold him in place. “Don’t you dare leave me now.”

“Never,” Aaron says, more fervently than the playful declaration requires. “Okay, back to appearances. I love the way your skin seems to capture the sun- you don’t just tan, you light up, somehow. Like you’re holding that warmth in you.” He kisses Alexander’s jaw.

“You have just… a ridiculously pretty mouth. It should be illegal,” Aaron declares, kissing Alex deeply.

“I know a guy, involved in the government. I’ll ask him about getting a law passed,” Alex teases when they come up for air.

Aaron bites his earlobe. “I love that you’re so quick, no matter what anyone else has to say, you always have a response,” he adds. “And I love that I feel like you really hear me, even when we disagree.”

He adjusts, slightly, to look his sub in the eyes. “I could get lost in your eyes for days. Not just the color- there’s so much happening in them. I love watching the thoughts play across your face when you’re writing,” he says, nuzzling against Alex but not quite kissing him.

Alex groans. “Aaron, if you keep teasing me, I am going to flip us over and take matters into my own hands,” he demands.

“That. You’re submissive. You’re my submissive. But you’re nobody’s inferior. You take what you want. You find a way to get it. You-” Alex tumbles them onto the floor, straddling his Dom’s hips.

“Oof,” Aaron chuckles. “You’re never predictable.” He feels something warm under his head. “You… knock our cocoa over, in your determination to have your way with me?” he says, realizing.

Alex bangs his forehead against Aaron’s chest, frustrated. “If I mop up the damn cocoa, can we please move this to the bedroom?” he begs.

Aaron laughs. “Screw the rug. We’ll worry about it tomorrow. Throw something over it, and we’ll go upstairs so I can show you just how loving you makes me feel.” He presses his hips up into his sub as he speaks, his meaning clear.

Alex moves quickly, throwing the cloth napkins they’d had folded as coasters over the spill and blotting up the worst of it. “Come on,” he says, impatient, when he’s done.

Aaron rolls to his feet, grinning. “I’m coming, I’m coming. I thought I was the one who was so madly in love it made me ridiculous,” he teases.

“Didn’t you know?” Alex says from the doorway of the sitting room, “I’m a man of a hundred passions, and tonight, I intend to devote myself to exploring my favorite one. You.” With that, he darts out of the sitting room and up the stairs, Aaron hot on his heels.

Alex beats Aaron to the bedroom, and when Aaron goes to close it, Alex slams him against it, kissing him fiercely. Aaron pushes a thigh out, getting it between Alex’s legs, and kisses him back just as hard.

Eventually, Alex begins to speak. “Let me, let me, please,” he begs, his hips grinding against Aaron’s leg as they make out.

“Let you what, sweetheart?” Aaron asks, kissing back and letting his hands roam Alex’s back, his ass, anywhere he can reach. “What do you need?”

“Gonna make you feel good, let me, I’ll make it so good,” he pleads.

Aaron is too fuzzy to work out what his sub is asking for. Still…. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” he says.

Alex divests him of his jacket, then, fingers fumbling at his waistcoat buttons as he continues to kiss him, as if he’s drowning and Aaron’s mouth is the only air left. Finally, he gets it open, trying to push if off Aaron’s shoulders. He growls when it won’t go.

“Let me… ahh,” Aaron gasps as Alex tongues at his neck. “Let me just lean forward.” He does, and Alex is able to get the vest past his shoulders. It falls, joining his jacket.

Alex doesn’t bother with his cravat or his shirt, just pushes down his braces, following them as he slides down Aaron’s body, divesting him of breeches and underwear as he goes. On his knees, Alex stares up at him, pupils wide with excitement.

“You make me feel… you make me feel so good, all the time. Gonna make you feel good,” Alex tells him.

Aaron twists his fingers through Alex’s hair, not pulling, just holding. Alex hums approvingly, then leans forward and, without warning, swallows Aaron down. He gasps, pounding the fist not tangled in Alex’s hair into the door.

Coherent thought deserts Aaron pretty much immediately. All he knows is the warm heat of Alex’s mouth, the way his sub hums with pleasure when Aaron can’t help thrusting into him or grips his hair tighter, trying to anchor himself. Alex’s hands move from braced on his hips to playing with his balls, and Aaron shudders through a climax that rips through him with unusual suddenness.

He sags against the door in the aftermath, spent in more ways than just the physical. “Revise the reasons I love your mouth,” he says, gasping. “That’s going on the list.”

Alex grins up at him from his knees, wiping his mouth with a smile. “Good?” he asks.

“Amazing. Ground shaking. We should not do that with me standing up, I nearly collapsed on you,” Aaron tells him, gradually coming back to himself.

“Though,” he says, once he’s got his breath back, “I seem to recall I was in the middle of something, when you interrupted me. And I think it’s time I got back to it.”

He pushes off of the door, helping his sub stand and kissing him thoroughly. Aaron kicks out of his remaining clothes while they kiss, then begins working on Alex’s with exquisite slowness.

By the time he’s got Alex stripped, his sub is a mewling mess. The advantage to having his mind blown already is that he’s feeling less urgent, now. More able to take his time. With that thought in mind, he spreads Alex out across the bed like a buffet.

He continues his pattern from earlier, lavishing each part of Alex with attention and praise. He talks about his sub’s hands, how they’re always stained with ink and ideas, tasting his fingers as he does. He talks about watching Alex learn to stand tall and proud, during the war and after, as he lavishes attention across his sub’s chest.

He discovers a ticklish spot on Alex’s ribs, and that has to be toyed with at length, of course, along with a monologue about the joy Alex brings into his life, every day. By the time he’s worked his way down Alex’s legs- ignoring one particular, straining part of him, Alex is nearly weeping with need.

Aaron sits back on his heels. “Roll over,” he instructs. Alex groans, and doesn’t move.

“Enough teasing,” he pleads.

“I’m not teasing, I’m enjoying you,” Aaron says, rolling his sub easily. Alex doesn’t resist. Aaron still gives him a few quick spanks, half as a reminder about obedience and half because he likes to watch his sub’s skin turn pink. Alex arches into the touch eagerly, clearly hoping for more.

But it’s too early to get to Alex’s ass, yet. He starts at his sub’s shoulders, talking about how strong they are, literally and metaphorically, as he massages the tension out of them with firm strokes. His touch is lighter along Alex’s arms, but he praises them as well, talking about how they feel wrapped around him.

He works his way down Alex’s spine, kissing the skin and telling him how much he admires the way his sub stands tall and proud in defense of his convictions. Finally, he decides Alex has probably had enough- he can’t tell what his sub is mumbling into a pillow at the head of the bed, but he can tell it’s desperate.

He devotes himself at last to praising Alex’s ass. “You have possibly the most gorgeous backside I’ve ever seen,” he announces. “Especially with a little color.” He devotes himself for a moment to refreshing that color, even as Alex’s hips begin to move back and forth, obviously his sub’s attempt not to thrust into the bed.

“Naughty,” he says, landing a slightly stingier slap to the top of each thigh. “Oh, that reminds me, we haven’t talked about your-”

“Aaron!” Alex howls.

“Just teasing,” he assures his sub. “Though if you yell at me like that again, I might decide to stop entirely,” he warns. No use letting Alex think he’s gotten away with anything, it makes him impossible.

“Sorry,” Alex says, sounding less chastened than desperate. “Please!” he adds, when Aaron doesn’t immediately go back to touching him.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Aaron challenges, not giving in yet.

Alex nods into the bed. “Yes, please, anything!” he begs.

Aaron decides he’s done teasing, stroking Alex’s ass firmly and parting his cheeks to play with the sensitive flesh there. He strokes his fingers around the delicate pucker of flesh, but doesn’t penetrate his sub yet. When he decides Alex is sufficiently desperate, he sits up.

Alex keens, but stays put. “There’s my good boy,” Aaron assures him, stroking a hand down his spine. “I’m just getting the oil. Be good for me a little longer, and I promise I’ll make you feel good,” Aaron assures him, retrieving the oil.

He doesn’t tease as he slicks Alex up and prepares him. His sub is too far gone, and despite having come once already, Aaron is getting pretty desperate himself.

Finally, he pushes into Alex in one slow, smooth stroke. His sub sobs with it.

Alex thrusts back into him, adding his own movement to the rhythm Aaron has established. Alex has pushed himself up onto his knees, and Aaron gets a hand around him to give Alex some friction.

His sub throws his head back, groaning, as he comes. Aaron continues thrusting for a long moment before his own orgasm, rolling off of Alex in the aftermath. Alex just collapses limply onto the bed once his Dom isn’t helping to support him.

Aaron dampens a cloth at the vanity and uses it to wipe them off, then helps a now clean Alex under the blankets. His sub goes easily, and it’s not long before Aaron is in the bed with him.

Alex clamors onto his chest, laying his head over Aaron’s heart. Aaron pets his hair fondly. They lie like that for a few minutes before Aaron realizes Alex is crying. It’s soft, he’s not sobbing or anything, but the wetness of tears on his bare chest is unmistakable.

“Hey, you alright?” Aaron asks, tilting Alex’s chin up to look at him. His sub nods. “Overwhelmed?” Aaron asks. Alex nods again.

The Dom pulls him closer, holding him even more firmly. “That’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here, and we’re safe and together.”

He tries not to panic. Alex doesn’t usually cry after sex, even intense scenes. He supposes emotional content has played a part in today’s tears, more than physical overload. But Alex won’t like seeing him freak out- and the sub might even feel he’d done something wrong by crying. No, Aaron needs to remain calm.

Alex’s tears dry quickly, thankfully, and in a few minutes the sub is asleep against his chest. Aaron blows out the lamp and pulls him closer, feeling himself begin to drift off, content in the arms of his sub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated! It's good to know people are still reading and enjoying- sometimes I worry I'm writing into the void!


	9. Schuyler Sisters, Gift Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza's married now, and living in Harlem. Peggy and Angelica go to see her for Christmas.
> 
> Genre: Family fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. What am I doing writing a whole fic every day? What was I thinking? And why am I loving it so much I can't stop???
> 
> I still need a couple of prompts, if anyone is inclined. Otherwise I'm going to add a couple of crazy things to the prompt list myself, like "Lafayette/Jefferson, Mistletoe". So if you don't want my nonsense, give me prompts! I need I think 3 more? Or if you do want my nonsense, enable it!
> 
> Either way, comments make me smile, please let me know what you think!

Christmas is a time for family. And in the Schuyler family, that means a time for sisters. Eliza may be married and living away from her family, now, but her husband is at war. She’s home alone waiting for him, scared for Alexander’s safety every day. She needs her sisters. Especially on Christmas.

She wouldn't have asked. Not when she feels like she needs to stay at home, in case any word of Alexander comes or he's able to get away to visit. She would never ask her sisters to change their plans and travel through the winter to be with her in Harlem.

They come anyway.

Angelica orchestrates it- Father is with the Army, too, so they aren't leaving home alone on the holiday, by leaving home. And, she reasons, it let's the servants have the day with their family.

So she packs up Peggy, the gifts, and Eliza’s favorite Christmas tarts Nanny has made special for her and they make the long carriage ride to the Hamiltons’ home, arriving in the early evening before Christmas Eve.

When Eliza opens the door to find her sisters on her front step, she screams.

“Angelica! Peggy! You’re here!” she says, crying as they all cling to each other. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“We couldn’t let you spend Christmas alone,” Peggy tells her, her voice muffled where Eliza’s squeezing her into Angelica’s side.

“We’re here,” Angelica repeats simply.

Eventually, Eliza remembers herself. “Come in. You must be cold. I’ll make tea. Oh, I’ll need to start cider, and I’ll have to send Lucy to the market tomorrow if we’re going to have a proper Christmas feast. Oh! How long can you stay?” she chatters a mile a minute, excited and already planning.

“Through the New Year,” Angelica assures her, laughing. “Now, breathe. Worry about food later. For now, let’s have that tea and sit down. We’ve missed you.”

Eliza asks about their journey as she makes tea, seeming to hardly believe they’re really there. She keeps touching them as she walks past, her smile luminous. Finally, they all take their tea into the sitting room.

“Eliza,” Peggy says slowly, looking around, “You haven’t decorated for Christmas!”

“It seemed silly to make a fuss, just for me,” Eliza explains.

“You don’t even have a  _ tree!” _ Peggy laments, horrified.

“There are much more important things going on right now than whether I decorate for Christmas. We’re at  _ war. _ Men are dying, every day,” Eliza insists.

“Which is why it’s important to find joy where we can,” Angelica tells her firmly.

Peggy pouts. “You love Christmas, Betsy!”

Eliza hesitates, the longing obvious in her expression.

“This just means we get to decorate together,” Angelica decides. She looks around. “You only have a day girl, right?” she asks Eliza.

“Yes. She’s gone for the day, but she’ll be back tomorrow. I’ve given her Christmas off,” Eliza reports.

Angelica nods. “Pegs, turn the place upside down, see what you can find to decorate with. Betsy and I are going to find a tree.”

“At this hour?” Eliza asks, surprised.

“There won’t be any left on Christmas Eve,” Angelica tells her, linking their arms. “Come on!”

They manage to find a seller who still has a few Christmas trees. They’re small things, but they pick a sweet one that looks good on most sides- they’ll just put the squashed bit in the corner, Angelica decides, paying for it.

They’re both covered in snow and breathing hard when they get home- to find that Peggy has emptied Alexander’s office of paper and made dozens of lacy paper snowflakes. “There’s cookie dough in the kitchen, ready to roll out for ornaments,” she announces. “I just need to string these onto some ribbon or twine.”

Eliza goes to find twine, and Angelica picks discarded bits of paper out of Peggy’s hair. “They look great,” she says.

“Is that the tree?” Peggy asks. “It’s adorable.” She frowns. “I may have made too many snowflakes.”

“Then we’ll string them up on the bannister,” Angelica suggests. “They’re beautiful.”

Eliza returns with twine. “Will this work?” she offers.

Peggy begins stringing the paper snowflakes as Eliza and Angelica go set up the tree.

“We need a tree skirt,” Eliza realizes.

“Do you have a scraps bin?” Angelica asks.

Eliza does have a skirt she’d torn irreparably in the scrap bin, and together they drape it across the bottom of the tree. “Perfect,” Angelica says, wrapping her arm around her sister’s waist as they lean back to survey their handiwork.

“And I’ve got garland!” Peggy announces. She drapes the snowflakes across the tree, adding an extra layer of cheerfulness. “Now, cookie ornaments. Yes, I made gingerbread dough, but you  _ have to save some for the tree, Ang.” _

They roll out the dough, cutting stars and moons and crosses out of it. Peggy, although a wonderful baker, is hopeless at tracing out the shapes, so she punches the holes in each piece of dough for the twine, and tries to keep Angelica from eating the raw dough.

“It’s just scraps!” Angelica laughs, teasing.

“I know, and we can re-roll it into  _ cookies,” _ Peggy reminds her. “Honestly, we won’t have any for the tree if you keep it up. Eliza! Angelica’s eating all my cookie dough!” she whines.

“Betsy, Pegs didn’t make me any cookie dough to eat!” Angelica cries, topping her sister’s teasing complaint. They both giggle as Peggy gathers up the scraps to re-roll.

Eliza makes cider while the cookies bake. “I’m glad I have apples. We can do a pie tomorrow, too.”

Angelica jumps up. “Nanny sent tarts!” she remembers.

Nanny has been with their family for years- she’d helped raise all of the girls, especially once their mother had passed. Her son is their gardener now, and she lives with his family in a little cottage on the Schuyler estate. She’d lamented not being able to visit Eliza in person and sent the middle sister’s favorite dessert as a consolation prize.

Eliza samples one, eyes closing in bliss. “Ooh, these are too good. Take them away from me! We’ll save them for Christmas,” she says. Peggy covers them back up and puts them into the larder.

“What else do we need to do, besides decorate the tree?” she asks, once the tarts are safely put away.

“We need a menu for Christmas, so I can send Lucy to the market tomorrow. And I hadn’t wrapped your gifts yet, since I wasn’t sure when I was going to see you. And I’m afraid we haven’t gotten a bed for the guest bedroom yet,” Eliza realizes.

“It won’t be the first time we’ve all climbed into one bed,” Angelica points out. 

“Sister snuggle party!” Peggy declares, pulling the cookies out. “And we can finish decorating the tree as soon as these cool.”

Angelica makes icing as the cookies cool, and she and Peggy ice them while Eliza strings twine through the ones that are mostly dry. When the cookies are all cool and dry, they take them into the sitting room and spread them across the tree.

When it’s done, the sisters stand back, leaning into each other. “It’s perfect,” Eliza says.

“We didn’t do half bad,” Angelica agrees.

“I love it!” Peggy says. Then she yawns, hard.

Eliza smiles. “We should get you two to bed. You’ve been traveling and decorating all day.”

“You're not joining us?” Peggy asks.

“I’ll be up soon, I’ve just got to wrap your presents,” Eliza assures her.

Angelica smiles. “Speaking of… the tree isn’t ready without presents!” She goes to the pile of their belongings in the hall, digging out she and Peggy’s gifts for each other and Eliza and scattering them around the base of the tree.

“Now  _ that’s _ a Christmas tree,” Peggy says happily.

Eliza hugs her sisters. “Thank you so much for this. It really feels like Christmas, now.”

She shows them upstairs and Peggy and Angelica begin getting ready for bed. Eliza joins them just as they’re climbing under the covers, changing into her nightclothes and pushing Peggy toward the middle so she can fit into the bed as well.

They talk about their plans for Christmas Eve as they fall asleep, warm and content to be together once more.

***

Christmas Eve is a flurry of activity. Eliza makes a shopping list and sends Lucy to the market, and Angelica decides to join her. Eliza and Peggy remain at home, making apple pie with the rest of the apples and straining the cider Eliza’d begun preparing the night before.

When Angelica returns home, the sisters devote their day to preparing the dishes they’ll cook tomorrow- with Lucy having the day off, they’ll have to fend for themselves, but Nanny had made sure each of them knew how to cook, sew, and look after a house herself as a matter of pride. Now, they put those skills to use and send Lucy home early to prepare her own Christmas dinner.

Preparing the hominy pudding dissolves into a food fight, corn and lima beans they’d also been preparing flying across the kitchen. They all freeze when they hear a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” Eliza wonders, wiping her hands on an apron she’d put on when they began cooking.

“Beats me,” Angelica says, shrugging. “It’s your house.”

The visitor turns out to be Theodosia Burr. Newly married to Aaron Burr, an acquaintance of Alexander’s, she’s been making an effort to get to know the other officer’s wives living in New York City. Today, she’d been worried about Eliza alone on Christmas and dropped in with a cherry pie and a welcoming smile.

Theodosia is surprised to be faced with the full energy of the Schuyler sisters, but she joins them for a pleasant afternoon of cider and conversation. Eliza is clearly pleased to see her friend, and Angelica and Peggy are glad to see that Betsy isn’t totally alone here in the city- she has people who care for her, even if her husband isn’t nearby.

When Theodosia leaves, they wrap up their food preparations before dressing for church. Eliza has found a church she likes, and the Christmas Eve service is another chance to see her among her new community- and be reassured that their sweet, shy sister has been embraced by her new hometown.

They walk home afterwards with their arms linked, kicking up snow.

When they let go of each other at the gate, Angelica turns away. Eliza stops to ask her what’s wrong- and is hit in the face with a snowball.

“Why, you?!” she cries, laughing, as she dives for the snow to return fire. Peggy steps too close to Angelica, though, and gets a snowball across her shoulder.

She grins. “This means war!” she tells her sister, ducking behind some bushes in the front garden for cover as she prepares her returning volley.

They fling snow at each other until they’re tired, each sister’s strategy different. Angelica runs around the yard, taking shots as she sees them. Eliza tries to find cover, flinging a snowball whenever someone pops up to throw one at her and leaves themselves vulnerable. Peggy lays in a supply of snowballs at her ‘base’ and runs back and forth to it, trying to sneak up on her sisters for volleys of shots before retreating as quickly as she’d appeared.

They’re all soaked and thoroughly chilled when they pile back into the house. They change into nightgowns and robes and towel off their hair before returning downstairs. Angelica starts a fire, while Eliza fixes cocoa. Peggy gathers up blankets, building them a nest on the couch.

Once they’re all relatively dry and warm, snuggled together on the settee sipping cocoa, Eliza announces, “This is the best Christmas I could’ve dreamed of, this year.”

Angelica adjusts Peggy, who is falling asleep on her shoulder, so she can rest her chin on her youngest sister’s head and turn to see Eliza. “It is pretty perfect, isn’t it?” she says softly.

“All we ever need is each other,” Eliza agrees.

They don’t want to wake Peggy, so all three of them wind up falling asleep on the settee, leaning against one another. When they wake up in the predawn hours, Eliza and Angelica stretch, working out the kinks from a night spent sleeping upright. Peggy bounces to her feet.

“It’s Christmas!” she cries. “Time for presents!”

Angelica groans. “How are you this awake?”

Peggy laughs. “I told you, it’s Christmas. Now, I’ll make coffee, and by the time it’s done I expect both of you to be ready for a proper Christmas morning.”

Eliza rubs her face. “I guess we’re getting up,” she says, looking after their youngest sister, who has darted down the hall.

“I guess we are,” Angelica agrees. She goes to get the fire burning again while Eliza straightens out the couch.

Peggy returns a few minutes later bearing a tray of mugs. “Coffee!” she announces. “Now, presents.”

“I want breakfast before I do anything else,” Angelica tells her.

Smiling mischievously, Peggy pops a few of the cookie ornaments off of the tree, setting one across the top of each mug. She puts a fourth in Angelica’s mouth when she opens it to object.

Eliza cackles with laughter. “Well, there’s breakfast. I suppose we should start sorting out presents.”

She goes to the tree, picking out the presents she’d wrapped for each of her sisters. Peggy has settled on the floor, one leg stretched out in front of her and the other tucked under the coffee table that’s holding her mug, so she sets her sister’s present down on the table. Angelica’s goes on the couch beside her.

“I hope you like them,” she says. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands, and I think of you both daily.”

Peggy opens hers first, gasping. Angelica puts her coffee down and opens her own, pulling the gift toward her immediately to press her face into it.

“It’s exquisite,” she says. Eliza hides her smile in her coffee cup.

Peggy leaps up to hug her sister. “Oh, Betsy, I love it!” she says, throwing on the warm, golden lace shawl and twirling to show it off. Hers is light, made of a ribbed lace designed to hold in warmth. Angelica’s deep rose one is a bit sturdier, cables spreading across her shoulders into a lacy edging.

Angelica pets the shawl admiringly, then reaches out to clasp Eliza’s hand. “I’ll wear it all the time.”

Eliza looks down, smiling. “I’ve always liked to knit, and I had so much time this year, I thought I’d do something special for you both.”

“Thank you,” Angelica says.

“Mine next!” Peggy decides, rushing to the tree. She hands each of them a rectangular package.

Angelica opens hers first. “Oh!” she says, surprised. Inside are several pamphlets, atop a book.

“I had a friend who works for a printer in Philadelphia look out for them,” Peggy explains. “And I know you wanted  _ Rivella,” _ she adds.

_ The Adventures of Rivella _ is a semi-autobiographical work by one of the first female political satirists in England. Angelica has always wanted to read more of her work. Peggy has also found a few of  Delarivier Manley’s old pamphlets to accompany the novel.

Angelica stands to hug her sister. “I can’t wait to read them!” she says happily.

Eliza opens hers next. She’s gotten a frame, which she turns over to discover a portrait of three sisters- with the initials P.S. in the corner.

She gasps. “Did you paint this?” she asks.

Peggy nods, suddenly shy. “I wanted you to be able to have a little of us with you, always,” she explains. Peggy has always been a talented artist, but she usually turns to sketching or charcoal. This is painted, in a light, almost sheer paint.

“How did you make this?” Eliza asks, touching the outline of Peggy’s dress in the picture as she speaks.

“They’re selling these cakes of what they call watercolor now. You wet them and the pigment becomes liquid. I like the lightness of it better than oils,” Peggy says.

“It suits you,” Eliza agrees. “And this is gorgeous. I love it so much. I’ll put it in here, where I can see it every day. No, the bedroom, so I can tell you both goodnight- oh, I don’t know.”

She’s tearing up, and Peggy comes to sit beside her and hugs her sister close. “We’ll always be with you.”

“I know,” Eliza agrees. “We may be apart, but I never feel alone- I know you’re there, even if you aren’t close.”

Angelica slides across the settee, wrapping her arms around Eliza from the other side and stroking Peggy’s hair. “It really is a perfect gift,” she tells their little sister.

Eventually, Eliza sits up, wiping her eyes. “I’m being silly. I’m so happy I’m crying!” she laughs.

Peggy uses her thumbs to wipe her sister’s eyes. “We understand. I think I’ll probably cry the first time I put my shawl on, once we’re home.”

“We’ll be with each other, even when we’re apart,” Eliza agrees.

“And on that note,” Angelica says, standing, “you’ve each got one more gift.”

She retrieves two small boxes, which had been almost hidden by the makeshift tree skirt. “I hope you like them,” she says, holding a box out to each sister. “You might want to open them together.”

Peggy and Eliza pull their ribbons, looking at each other and nodding before lifting the lids of their boxes in unison. Nestled in each small box is a pair of earrings made of glass beads. Peggy’s has a large, shining yellow teardrop bead dangling down, then a small green, then pink bead threaded on the wire above it. Eliza’s are soft, sage green teardrops with a tiny golden, then pink bead above them. Clear beads alternate between each colorful one, making a drop earring that will dangle fetchingly from their ears.

They look at Angelica in unison, identical expressions of surprised pleasure on their faces. “I’ve got a set, too,” she says. “Pink, with gold then green.”

“Our favorite colors,” Peggy says quietly.

“All of them, together,” Eliza adds, taking an earring out and examining it in the light.

“Ooh,” Peggy says, watching the light reflect off of the pretty colored glass.

“They’re nothing fine, but they’re pretty and they’re us,” Angelica explains.

“I’d rather have them than any gemstone,” Eliza tells her.

“They’re priceless,” Peggy agrees.

The sisters share a soft, happy smile, then spread out across the settee once more, finishing their coffee and munching cookies off of the tree for a leisurely morning. 

Afterwards, they cook their Christmas supper, moving around each other in the kitchen with the ease of long practice, trading laughter and spoons back and forth, before sitting down at Eliza’s table for Christmas supper.

Before they eat, Eliza reaches out to take each of her sisters’ hands. “The best gift I ever could’ve gotten for Christmas was spending it with you two. Thank you,” she says. Her sisters share a smile of agreement across the table. Christmas, after all, is better with your family.


	10. Alex/Burr Tickling (D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is being a brat. Aaron thinks he knows what to do about that.
> 
> Genre: Fluffy sex? Playful D/s?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I got into my head 'playful punishment', which the prompter mentioned, meant they wanted tickling In A Scene. I therefore spent a great deal of time today figuring out how that would work? I THINK it works. It was an interesting challenge to write! I had fun.
> 
> If you want to give the sexiness a pass, stop at the break (***) and it's just a short fic about dorks in the kitchen.

Aaron is in the kitchen getting a Christmas cookie to go with his tea when Alex comes in. All of the ladies of their acquaintance have decided that two men living together will be without at the holidays if they don’t personally bring them sweets, so they have a ridiculous amount. It amuses Aaron thoroughly- both because he’s a skilled baker himself (the routine of it relaxes him) and because most of the women who’ve dropped off cookies likely had nothing to do with their servants actually  _ making _ them.

“Ooh, yum,” Alex says, reaching over Aaron’s shoulder to steal his cookie. He takes a bite of it, and Aaron whirls, laughing.

“Give that back!” he demands.

Alex holds the cookie above his head. “Come on and take it,” he teases. He’s arching to hold it behind him and away, though, and Alex may only be slightly taller than him, but it’s enough that he can’t reach the cookie. 

He tries anyway, but fails. Alex raises a taunting eyebrow. Aaron considers his next move. He’s  _ not _ going to jump. It’s undignified. He could just get another cookie, but there’s no fun in that. Since Alex became a part of his life, he’s loosened up a little. Become more willing to play, even if he ends up looking foolish.

So he lunges around Alex, since he’s holding the cookie up and back, but Alex spins, and the move puts him with his back to the table. Now, Aaron  _ can’t _ get behind him. Or reach the cookie.

Fighting fair didn’t work, it’s time to fight dirty.

Aaron reaches out again, but instead of trying to grab the cookie, he kisses Alex. Now, Alex is an accomplished kisser. He can make out  _ and _ play keep away. But while he’s distracted by the kiss, Aaron reaches out and tickles his side.

Alex’s body curls in against him, trying to protect his sensitive sides from Aaron’s teasing fingers, and Aaron is about to grab the cookie. But Alex stretches back out, balancing his hands behind him on the table and kissing with new ferocity, the cookie falling forgotten onto the tabletop.

There’s a deliberateness to the way Alex’s hands stay behind him, tightly gripping the table. He kisses breathlessly, desperately, even as he struggles to keep their lips locked through his laughter, though, and so Aaron keeps kissing him, his other hand coming up to skate along Alex’s other side.

After a long moment of deep kissing, when Alex is laughing so hard Aaron’s a little worried he’s not getting enough air, he pulls back, grabs the cookie his lover had dropped, and says, “Thanks,” taking it and his cooling tea back to his office.

He’s already in the hall when Alex rouses himself enough to be indignant, calling, “Hey!” after him. He’s got work to do, after all. And things to think about. Alex’s reactions were  _ very interesting. _

***

They both have work to do, but Alex finds opportunities to tease him throughout the day- popping in with ‘urgent’ and ridiculous questions, then when Aaron closes his door so he can focus sliding notes underneath, the most memorable of which is Alex’s drawing of them as cats. Alex stands tall over a freshly caught mouse. Burr is asleep on a book. The message is clear- Alex wants to play, and he is being  _ boring. _

When he puts away his work for the evening to join his sub for supper, Alex blocks the dining room door, refusing to let his Dom in until Aaron makes it ‘worth his while’. Aaron kisses him agreeably, thinking his sub is merely feeling neglected. Alex’s frustrated look at getting his way is a revelation, though. Alex is doing something he’s never done with Aaron before.

He’s  _ bratting. _

His brilliant, driven, image conscious submissive is being an absolute and intentional brat. He has been all day. He clearly wants Aaron’s attention, and he’s clearly determined to get it, in a specific way. It’s oddly adorable.

Alex isn’t ‘acting out’ because he feels insecure, or panicking about their relationship. He’s being playful, goading Aaron into what he wants with the trust that Aaron will play with him, that it’s safe to be the silly, sometimes immature side of himself he shows so few people. Aaron is  _ delighted. _

He’s also reminded of Alex’s reaction to being tickled, earlier. There’s something so trusting and playful about letting yourself be tickled- it’s overwhelming, but without any seriousness or weight. He can work with that.

After dinner, he sets his plan into motion. “I’m tired. I’m turning in early. And I  _ do not _ want to be disturbed.” He’s comically stern with it, all but winking at Alex. He’s fairly sure his sub gets the message, given the way he smirks.

Alex isn’t the most patient man under the best of circumstances, so Burr gets things ready quickly as soon as he gets upstairs. He lays out the cuffs, putting them into place and ready to fasten, then begins getting ready for bed in slow motion. He’s halfway through changing- shirtless, of course- and has been for five minutes when Alex runs up the stairs like a herd of elephants, screaming his head off.

“Aaron! Aaron!” he yells, thundering into the room.

“What? What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, looking up as if he’s been caught by surprise.

“Can we see if Betsy and ‘Ria are free for lunch tomorrow?” his sub asks, his face a picture of innocent earnestness.

“Alexander,” he purrs his sub’s name dangerously, taking a single step towards him. “Did you just run, screaming, up here, to ask me if we can have dinner with your wife? When I specifically told you I didn’t want to be disturbed?” he demands.

Alex looks at him guilelessly. “It was an emergency.”

“A lunch date isn’t an emergency,” Aaron says. “Clearly, if I want you quiet, I’m going to have to  _ make _ you be quiet,” he threatens.

Alex pouts. “I can do quiet! See, I’m quiet!” he insists.

Aaron snorts. “Not so much. No, I gave you instructions, and you didn’t follow them. Obviously I’m going to have to be clearer. Strip,” he orders, putting his hands on his hips in his best cartoonishly stern posture.

“Aaron?” Alex asks, a little wariness creeping into his voice.

“Don’t  _ Aaron _ me now,” the Dom says. “I’m going to give you what you’ve been asking for all afternoon.” He winks as he says it, so Alex knows he’s in on the game- his sub hadn’t sounded  _ afraid, _ just a little hesitant.

“And the only way I’m stopping is if I hear your safeword,” he adds, just to reassure his sub. His assurances do the trick- Alex is out of his clothes in record time, flinging them as he removes them so they’re scattered across the room.

He’s fairly sure Alex isn’t doing anything without reason, tonight. Playing the hunch, he bends his now naked sub over his arm, giving him a flurry of light little whacks- Alex enjoys the sensitivity a light spanking leaves, even if pain isn’t the goal of a scene. His sub whines theatrically, continuing even as Aaron stands him back up.

“You know that kind of messiness is unacceptable. Put your clothes away,” he instructs.

“You didn’t need to  _ spank _ me!” Alex sulks.

“Clearly I did,” Aaron says, raising an eyebrow. “And if that’s your attitude, maybe you need more.”

“I’m going!” Alex tells him. He moves glacially, looking around the room as if he has no idea where the clothes he just scattered might be and pausing often to rub his backside and shoot his Dom woebegone looks.

He’s not stalling because he’s nervous- Alex keeps forgetting he’s supposed to be playing at chastened and he’s clearly enjoying trying Aaron’s patience. When he takes  _ just one _ stocking to the closet, even though they were lying together, Aaron decides to up the ante.

“You should know,” he informs his sub, “However long you stall putting your things away, that’s how long you’re spending over my knee when you’re done.”

While he waits, he removes the rest of his own clothes, hanging them neatly. They absolutely keep punishment and sex separate- since ‘play punishment’ is relatively new to them, he wants to be naked from the get-go, so Alex has that extra proof that this is just for fun.

Alex manages to stretch putting away his clothes into nearly five minutes- Aaron is keeping vague track, but he’s not planning on being precise, here. His sub is making it clear he wants more spanking before they move forward, after all- he’s apparently completely forgotten how hangers work, and stares at the one he’s putting his jacket on as if it’s magic, trying a series of ridiculous methods of hanging before getting it put up. When he does, he turns to Aaron, triumphant.

“Very good, finally,” Aaron says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Now, come here.”

Alex comes to him much more quickly than he hung up the clothes, flinging himself down. Aaron shifts him, moving him so his pelvis is centered across the Dom’s lap. Might as well take advantage of the foreplay opportunities and get his sub as worked up as possible, before he gets tied down.

“Now, since you felt like being so messy, you’re going to get a long spanking before we move on to everything else I have planned for you,” Aaron tells his sub. It’s a check in and reassurance- that he’s playing along, but also that he’s read Alex’s signals right and that’s what he wants.

Alex wiggles, grinding down into Aaron’s lap under the pretense of getting away. “Don’t, stop!” he insists. His inflection is a blend of ‘Don’t! Stop!” and “Don’t  _ stop!” _ that’s obviously intentional, and Aaron nearly chuckles.

“Too late for that, I’m afraid. Unless you want to safeword?” he asks, checking in. They have dabbled at the edges of roleplayed punishments so far, but they’ve never been this deliberate about it, and he wants Alex to know that if at any point this stops being fun, he has the power to stop everything in its tracks.

“No,” Alex admits, “I don’t need to safeword.”

“Good,” Aaron tells him, and begins spanking. He lays down light, stinging slaps all across his sub’s cheeks, staining them pink. Since the goal here is sensitivity, he doesn’t limit himself to just Alex’s cheeks, though. He spanks down his thighs, even smacking the insides of his legs when the sub kicks dramatically. He even gives him a couple of light slaps to the place between his legs, behind his balls. He’d never spank Alex’s actual equipment, but he  _ does _ want him writhing and oversensitive before he ties him down.

Alex loves it. His fake whines turn into real moans, especially when Aaron spanks more errogenous spots. Aaron pays absolutely no attention to ‘matching the time he’d spent putting away clothes’, spanking instead until Alex is grinding down hard against his leg.

“That’ll teach you to be messy,” he tells his sub, helping him upright and immediately sitting him down on his now sensitized skin. “Now, in the middle of the bed, please. On your back.”

Alex grins, bouncing onto the bed. Once he’s there, he whines theatrically, wiggling around. “A-aaron,” he complainis, “It’s too sore to sit on!” he insists, shifting around.

“Then you should’ve thought of that before you were naughty. Now, if you can’t be still, I’m going to have to tie you down.” That is, of course, exactly what Alex wants. He’s clearly seen the cuffs his Dom already has ready, and is itching to use them.

Aaron has the cuffs attached to the individual bedposts, not threaded through the headboard today. That will limit Alex’s ability to draw his hands down to protect oversensitive flesh. He buckles his sub’s hands into the cuffs, running a finger along the inside to make sure the soft leather isn’t too tight. Alex leans forward hopefully, and Aaron gives him a long kiss.

“You look so pretty in my cuffs,” he tells his sub, when he pulls back.

Aaron shifts to get off of the bed, and Alex flops dramatically. “You can’t expect me to lay here on a  _ sore bottom!” _ he insists, twisting to roll over as much as he can with his hands bound.

Aaron catches his foot, pinning him in place, and gives him another quick volley of spanks on the backs of his legs before rolling him back into position. “Do I need to get out the leg cuffs?” he asks.

They’re a recent purchase they haven’t used yet, and he can well imagine Alex may be playing up because he wants them. He’s sure that’s the case when his sub kicks the bed dramatically. “That’s not fair!” It’s very telling that for all of his playful protests, there hasn’t been a no among them. Aaron goes to the wardrobe to retrieve the leg cuffs.

Alex is watching him eagerly as he returns, and his sub wobbles his lower lip in an exaggerated pout as he begins fastening on the leg cuffs. “It’s too late to try being cute to get me to let you off,” Aaron tells him. “You’ve been acting up all day, and now you’re going to get what you need.”

Alex shivers at the promise. “I’ll be good,” he tells his Dom.

“Not like you have a choice, at the moment,” Aaron tells him. Alex moves around curiously, testing this theory.

Aaron has the leg chains pretty tight, so Alex can’t close his legs. He sees the moment his sub discovers this, from the way his eyes darken.

“There,” Aaron tells him, knowing Alex loves to hear about what’s being done to him as much as he loves experiencing it, “Now you’re all tied up and at my mercy. You can’t stop me from touching you,” he strokes a hand down Alex’s stomach, stopping just shy of his cock, “teasing you,” he circles the head once with his thumb, not touching him otherwise, “or disciplining you.” He smacks the inside of Alex’s thigh, and Alex  _ moans. _

Aaron can pick up  _ that _ cue, for sure. “Now, for all that kicking, earlier,” he says, giving his sub a series of light swats up and down his inner thigh, pinking the skin further and watching Alex’s back arch with pleasure. “And, because I like symmetry,” he repeats the process on the other thigh- emphasizing Ale’s helplessness. Aaron can torture him for nothing but the aesthetic pleasure of it, and Alex can’t stop him.

The fantasy is clearly intoxicating to his sub. Alex moans, his eyes glassy. He’s definitely dropping, and it’s time for Aaron to put what he learned this afternoon to use.

“Now,” he says, swinging his leg across Alex so he’s straddling his sub’s thighs but not touching him at all, “You were very distracting, today, weren’t you?” he asks.

Alex nods. “What’re you going to do about it?” he asks hopefully.

Aaron ghosts a hand along his ribs. Alex twists away automatically, fighting back laughter. “I’m going to make you sorry,” he tells his sub deviously.

Alex shudders, and Aaron leans forward to tickle him, skating a hand up his underarm and making him shake with laughter. He tickles Alex for a few minutes as his sub becomes increasingly more breathless. He’s stretching across Alex’s body deliberately, and his sub thrusts up into him, smearing precum across Aaron’s stomach. Aaron isn’t sure if it’s the helplessness or the contact that’s doing it, but Alex is definitely enjoying this.

Aaron is enjoying it, too. He notices a feather sticking out of the pillow beside Alex’s head and leans forward to pull it out, kissing Alex hungrily as he does.

His sub arches into the full body contact, kissing back desperately. Which means he’s absolutely shocked when Aaron leans back a moment later and trails a feather between his balls and up his cock. “Oh- OH!” Alex says, bucking up into the ‘featherlight’ touch.

The feather that came out of the pillow was a fairly big one, and Aaron teases his sub with it until he’s straining desperately. Then, he flips it over, dragging the rough tip across Alex’s inner thigh, up the crease where it meets his groin.

“Aaron! Aaron, please,” Alex sobs. He’s at the end of his endurance, but he’s not getting quite enough to push him over the edge.

Aaron could draw it out, but frankly having Alex helpless beneath him is too much fun. He readjusts his position, moving to kneel inbetween Alex’s thighs. His sub watches him, wide eyed, pupils blown, still chanting, “Please, please!”

Aaron licks a stripe up his sub’s cock, blowing on it. Alex  _ howls. _ Then, without further ado, Aaron swallows him down, fingers reaching out to tease sensitive skin along his balls and perenium as he sucks his sub off with deliberate intensity- giving him too much, now, just like he’d given him too little, before.

The sight of his beautiful submissive absolutely falling apart underneath him undoes him just as thoroughly, and Aaron gets a hand underneath himself, giving him something to thrust into as he works. It doesn’t take either of them long- Aaron manages to keep sucking through his own orgasm.

Alex sobs as he comes, collapsing onto the bed like a wet noodle. Aaron expects he’s down for the count, tonight, so he’s surprised when Alex starts trying to sit up a moment later.

“Let me out, c’mon, help me with these, unfasten me,” he says hazily. Aaron is immediately out of his post-coital stupor, lunging for the cuffs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, freeing Alex’s first wrist.

“You- need t’say- t’say thank you. Return the favor.” Alex is positively  _ drunk _ on endorphins. It’s adorable.

“I’m fine,” Aaron assures him as he continues removing the cuffs.

“No, gotta make you feel good,” Alex tells him, slumping against his Dom’s chest once his arms are free. He’s too blissed out to do anything of the sort, even if Aaron hadn’t already come.

“No need,” Aaron tells him. “You were so beautiful… so perfect and gorgeous… I already came.” He rubs his sub’s wrists as he speaks, checking carefully that there are no bruises, or any pressure marks likely to last more than an hour or two. The soft, padded leather cuffs were definitely worth the investment.

Alex blinks at that, looking stunned. “Wow,” he says quietly. “Then I guess I helped?” he asks.

Aaron throws his head back and laughs, as hard as Alex had while being tickled. When he’s done, he leans his forearms on Alex’s shoulders, reaching across his sub’s back to wipe his eyes as he agrees, “Yes, Alex, you definitely helped.”

“Good,” Alex says tiredly. Aaron gets himself together and gets his sub’s legs free, checking them as well. “It was good?” Alex asks, continuing his half-out of it chat as Aaron works. “Me being bad?”

“It was  _ fun.” _ Aaron tells him immediately. “You being silly, me being ridiculous. Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” Alex tells him muzzily, shifting back toward him now that his legs are free and leaning against his side. “It  _ was _ fun, causing trouble. Especially once I knew you knew I was playin’. And it was nice, pretending there was a reason. That I  _ deserved _ it,” he explains.

“Maybe we should come up with a real roleplay scenario, sometime,” Aaron muses. “Play with it a little more.”

Alex yawns. “That sounds nice,” he says.

Aaron laughs. “Okay, you. Up, so I can wipe you off and get you under the covers.” Alex at least manages to shift to sit on the side of the bed, and Aaron gets a cloth from the vanity and wets it, giving himself a quick scrub, then returning to the bed and pressing the cloth between his hands to warm it before using it to gently clean his sub up. He gives the wet spot on the bed a cursory wipe as well, then tosses the cloth carelessly toward the vanity to deal with tomorrow.

“Alright,” he pulls the covers back, guiding Alex under them. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

He gets into bed beside Alex, turning toward his sub and opening his arms as Alex flops closer. He kisses the dark haired man one more time before they both fall asleep, sated and spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments make my day! Hugs!


	11. Jefferson&Hamilton Mistletoe/foe (minor D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Thomas promised to make nice for the Christmas party. That went.... About as well as you'd expect. 
> 
> Genre: Holiday party fic, some discussion of D/s between existing in universe pairings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I wasn't preplanning? Well, I had a pretty clear idea where this story would go when I got the prompt. then I sat down to write it today and my muse laughed in my face.

“It’s one night,” Washington says with a sigh.

“Then it’s not that big of a deal,” Alex argues again. “It’ll be over tomorrow.”

“It will not be over if we don’t put on a good show, tonight. You know the Canadian delegation is checking for weak spots, for their home country,” Washington reminds him. “We can’t show them any. Discord among our government makes us look weak.”

“I don’t know why you insisted on throwing them this party, anyway,” Alex grumbles, slouching against the wall.

Washington stands, coming to face him. “Because we do not need enemies on our Northern border if we can help it, as you well know,” he says firmly, holding eye contact. “You also know that a big part of avoiding fights is convincing people you’re capable of winning them.”

It’s a lesson Washington taught him- the easiest fight to win is one you can avoid having. Alex, who fights like he writes- desperately, quickly, intensely- had resented it at first, but he knows logically his mentor is right.

Alex looks away and down, sighing, but doesn’t answer. Washington reaches out, tilting his surrogate son’s chin up. “I’m not asking you to make friends with him. I’m just asking for civility, for one night,” he reminds Alexander.

Alex nods. “I bet you didn’t give him the third degree,” he sulks.

Washington squeezes his shoulder. “He’s not my son. I left that to James.”

***

Down the hall, James is having much the same conversation.

“I’ve seen you do far more unpleasant things for far longer,” he tells his sub.

“Have you? Have you really? I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anyone quite so unpleasant as our Treasury Secretary,” Jefferson sulks. He’s flopped dramatically to lean on the conference table, his Dom standing in front of him.

“You know that isn’t true. You may never have met someone who gets you so worked up, but you’ve known far worse people,” James says. “And I’ve seen you shake their hands and make deals with them, when you had to.”

“When I had to. Hamilton has no power over me,” Thomas reminds him.

“Washington does. And he expects everyone to get along tonight. And I do. I gave George my word, and I know you aren’t going to make me break it,” James tells him, crossing his arms.

Jefferson sighs. “It was a stupid promise to make.”

“You’re entirely correct. I forgot you’re a child, incapable of managing his emotions. Here I thought you were a statesman. My mistake,” James says flatly.

“Fine!” Jefferson blows out an explosive breath, pushing himself away from the table to pace. “But he’s the most infuriating man on the planet. You just know he’s going to take advantage of me not rising to the bait and annoy me more than usual.”

“And if he does, Washington will handle it. But Alex’s behavior isn’t my responsibility. Yours is. And you will be polite,” James says, grabbing Thomas’ elbow to stop him as he pauses. “I do know what I’m asking. And I appreciate your help.” He kisses his sub lightly. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Fine. But you’re going to have to listen to me complain about every obnoxious thing he does tonight, first,” Thomas agrees, kissing him back.

***

The Canadian diplomats, Alex quickly decides, may actually be even more obnoxious than Jefferson.

He hears the other man’s laugh from across the room, where he’s talking to the secretary the Canadians had brought with them, and changes his mind. Jefferson is consorting with the enemy. Obviously, this means he’s worse.

He goes looking for Washington to complain about this development. When his surrogate father finishes speaking to George Clinton and his wife, he steps up, making a pleading face. Washington guides him to a secluded corner.

“What’s the matter?” the General asks, his broad shoulders shielding them from the room. For the first time all night, Alex feels like he can breathe easily.

“The Canadians are awful. Snooty and judgemental and they think they’re so clever. And Jefferson is befriending them!” Alex whispers furiously.

To his surprise, his mentor gives him a stern look. “As you should be. The whole point of this party is to establish friendly relations. Or at least non hostile ones,” he adds pointedly.

“If they wanted us to be friendly, they shouldn’t have shown up a week before Christmas,” Alex complains. “We should be celebrating.” Alex had never liked Christmas much as a child- too many reminders of everything he didn’t and couldn’t have. The Washingtons gave him his first taste of Christmas with family, though, and now he loves spending the season sharing that feeling with Philip and Eliza. His wife and son are upstate at her father’s house already, without him, since Washington had asked him to stay to meet the Canadians. His resentment is obvious.

“If you weren’t prepared to help, you shouldn’t have stayed,” Washington tells him sternly, disappointment and annoyance clear in his tone.

Alex reacts like he’s been slapped. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He looks down at his shoes. “I’ll do better.”

Washington squeezes his arm briefly. “Alex, you’re one of the most charming men I’ve ever met, when you want to be. Even if you don’t like them, charm them so we can be done faster, and you’ll make it upstate before Christmas.”

Alex nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man,” Washington tells him. “Now, ready to get back to it?”

Alex nods again, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“Eyes up,” the General reminds him. “You’re the equal of every person in this room.” He’s spent years trying to teach Alexander that.

“Even you?” Alex teases now, his gaze darting up.

“Maybe not my stunning good looks,” Washington teases, “but don’t worry, you’ll get there.”

Alex laughs, honest and amused, and Washington joins in. The General clasps his arm one more time in silent reassurance, then lets himself be called over to a group of the Canadians across the room.

Alex sets himself to the task of charming the socks off everyone in the room, with single-minded determination.

***

Thomas has never had any trouble being charming. He oozes charisma now, chatting away with the secretary the Canadians brought along. He’s already realized the man is the sub of the standoffish fellow who seems to lead the delegation- befriending him seems like a more effective way of ensuring good relations than approaching a man who clearly doesn’t want to chat.

The younger man turns out to be interesting enough for a short chat. It turns out he translates regularly, both with Iroquois tribes and the French in the region, and he’s delighted to learn Jefferson is fluent in French. They’ve just switched languages when Jefferson looks up and realizes Hamilton has blundered over to talk to the Candian delegation’s leader, despite his clear ‘stay away’ body language and position in an out of the way corner.

He supposes he did promise James he’d make nice tonight. Sure, letting Hamilton make a fool of himself would be funny, but it would be unkind, even if his Dom would probably never realize he could’ve avoided the scene. Sighing, he says, “I’m not the only fluent French speaker in the Cabinet. You should meet Alexander.”

Suiting actions to words, he leads the secretary- Jonas- over to the corner where Alexander is trying desperately to draw a standoffish Canadian into conversation.

“Alex,” he says warmly, wrapping an arm around the Treasury Secretary and using it to turn him slightly away from the clearly unamused diplomat, “Jonas here is a bit of a translator. He not only speaks French, he speaks some Iroquoian.”

Jonas holds out his hand. “Ravi de vous rencontrer. Je m'appelle Jonas.”

Alex apparently wasn’t raised by barn animals, because he takes the young man’s hand politely, shaking it as he responds, “Merci. Moi aussi. Je m'appelle Alexander.”

Alexander is obviously bursting with curiosity about the translator, but Mr. Williams, who Theodore is now very sure is Jonas’ Dom, is looking steadily more annoyed. Thomas doesn’t think Hamilton is dense enough to be intentionally flirting with the man, but it’s definitely coming off that way.

“Oh, Hamilton, I almost forgot,” Thomas says, stepping between them. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. If you’ll excuse us?” he nods at the Canadians, pulling Hamilton away by his elbow.

The Treasury Secretary clearly doesn’t sense the disaster he’s just averted and begins complaining as soon as they’re out of earshot. “He was the first interesting person I’ve met tonight-”

“And you were flirting with him in front of his Dom,” Thomas says through gritted teeth, smiling at Dolley when she shoots him a questioning look as he leads Hamilton into the hall. The ladies are gathering in a separate parlor, but she starts to come over. He waves her off, as discreetly as he can.

Alex looks scandalized. “I was not! And anyway, he’s a sub-”

“Subs can be intelligent,” Thomas says, cutting him off bitingly. He cannot sit here tonight and listen to Alexander Hamilton deride submissives. He’s a switch, anyway. Just like Thomas pretends to be. For all of his flaws, he’d never taken Hamilton for a dynamicist.

Hamilton scoffs, turning to return to the party. Jefferson grabs his wrist, stopping him. “Steer clear of Williams and Jonas,” he whispers. “We just need to get through this night.”

Hamilton shrugs him off, giving him a single, short, furious nod. “And you steer clear of me,” he says, adjusting his coat and turning to return to the party. Thomas glares after him. He needs a drink.

***

Alex needs a drink. Not only is Jefferson a patronizing asshole, he’s projecting his own sex-crazed tendencies onto everyone else. Alex had not been flirting with Jonas, even if he hadn’t realized he and Williams were an item. He’s just friendly! Jefferson’s brain is just permanently in the gutter, with the rest of him.

He gets another drink. Then another. He should probably slow down, but he’s stressed and out of his element without Eliza here tonight, or even in town. Not even Burr’s here, tonight. Alex had asked the General to make sure someone sent him an invite, wanting a friendly face in the crowd, but Burr had declined, saying Theodosia was under the weather. So the only real friend he’s got in the crowd is Washington, and he knows he can’t monopolize the President all night.

He gets tipsy quicker than he’d expected to. He never thinks to stop for lunch, and without Eliza around to pack him things to nibble on while he works, he hasn’t been eating much, so the alcohol hits him faster. He chats with Randolph for a few minutes, feeling progressively sorrier for himself.

He never feels like he fits in at these things. Everyone else here was born into high society, and he feels like when they look at him, they see the poor, bastard orphan from the islands. It never fails to make him anxious, worrying what faux pas he’s going to make this time.

Though he’s not as bad as Jefferson seems to think- as if he’d dream of flirting with a member of the Canadian delegation, even if he were attracted to subs! He’s finished talking to Randolph, so he tells him goodbye and turns to go find Jefferson and tell him exactly what he thinks of his suppositions and gossip mongering. Who does he think he is, accusing Alex of flirting with Jonas?

Except he turns around and it’s not Jefferson standing nearby- Jonas is there, inches from his face. “Sorry about that,” Alex apologizes, reaching out to steady the startled younger man.

“No harm. I’m fine,” Jonas says. “You looked fierce just now, everything alright?”

“Just remembered some writing I’ve got to get done tonight,” Alex lies easily. “Never seem to be able to shut my brain off completely.”

“I understand. When I can’t sleep, I try to recite poems I’ve memorized in English in other languages, in my head. It distracts my brain enough that I can rest,” Jonas tells him.

“That’s clever. I might have to try that,” Alex says, impressed. They share a conspiratorial smile, the only two polyglots in the room.

At least now he has someone to talk to, he thinks, brushing aside Jefferson’s earlier warning. This night might be getting better.

***

This night is definitely getting worse. Not only is he stuck in a never ending conversation with Williams, who apparently doesn’t socialize because he’s a terrible bore, but Hamilton has wandered over and started flirting with Jonas again. He’s keeping Williams distracted, but that will only last so long.

James walks by, and he signals him desperately with his eyes. “Madison!” he calls. “Have you met Fitzroy Williams? Mr. Williams, Madison is one of our Congressmen,” he says, introducing them.

Williams safely distracted, he leaves him in James’ capable hands, rushing as casually as he can to Hamilton and Jonas. Someone thought it would be funny to set up mistletoe near the wall by the drinks, and people are ignoring the area unless they want to kiss their partners. But Jonas and Hamilton keep edging that way- Jefferson isn’t sure if they’re just trying to stay out of the way of the crowds of people bumping each other or if Hamilton is doing it on purpose.

Either way, he only sees one solution. He bumps Hamilton as he walks past, knocking him into the area under the mistletoe and ‘stumbling’ after him. Hopefully, if they put on a show, it’ll supersede anything anyone has seen between Hamilton and Jonas already.

“Oops,” he says theatrically. “Sorry about that.” He looks up, pretending to notice the mistletoe. “Well, tradition demands it,” he says.

He does not want to kiss Hamilton, tonight or ever. He’s just hoping to get close enough to remind him to back off of Jonas. But he’s still offended at the way the other man pales.

“C’mon, Alexander,” he says expansively, “Let’s get this over with.” 

He pecks him quickly on the lips, surprised at how much liquor he smells on the other man. “You’re drunk?” he hisses, furious. “No wonder you can’t keep it in your pants.”

For the benefit of the room at large, he straightens up and adds, “Now, we still need to talk, don’t we? Let’s see if we can borrow Washington’s office.” He steers the other Cabinet member out of the ballroom with a hand on his back. Hopefully, anyone whose seen them will assume it’s flirtation, if they don’t know them, or an argument they want to keep private, if they do. And there’s definitely going to be an argument, because promise to James or not, he’s going to absolutely let Hamilton have it as soon as they’re somewhere private.

***

That’s it, as soon as they’re somewhere private he’s letting Jefferson have it, promise to Washington or no. Who the hell does he think he is, kissing Alex and dragging him around? And judging his drinking. It’s offensive.

Jefferson actually takes him to Washington’s home office, of all places- the reception is at the mansion the President lives in, and Alex’s bedroom is just in the other wing- and as soon as the door closes behind him, Alex raises his arm to punch the self righteous jerk in the mouth.

Jefferson grabs his fist, stopping him. He must be drunker than he thought, for his reflexes to be that bad. Jefferson shouldn’t be able to get the jump on him. He shakes him off.

Jefferson doesn’t budge. “Let go of me.”

“Not if you’re going to hit me,” Jefferson says with infuriating calm.

Alex glares, then sighs, then shrugs, relaxing his stance. Finally, Jefferson lets him go.

And promptly boxes his ears. “What the hell were you thinking?” the Secretary of State demands. “Flirting with him? Were you intentionally leading him to the mistletoe? I told you he was off limits.”

Alex stares at him, shocked. “He was the only person there worth talking to. I didn’t realize we were anywhere near the mistletoe.”

Jefferson scoffs. “Sure. You weren’t leading him there deliberately.”

“You’re the one knocking people into the mistletoe zone and kissing them,” Alex reminds him, offended. He’s already said he wasn't flirting with Jonas.

“That was a calculated move. For starters, there was only so long James and I were going to be able to keep Williams distracted. Second, now that’s what the Canadians will be talking about, not you flirting with their secretary,” Thomas explains. He’s patronizing, like Alex is too stupid to follow the conversation.

“The rest of the Americans, on the other hand,” Alex reminds him.

“Will figure we were making up a pretext to go yell at each other. Which we were. Because you’re an idiot,” Jefferson reminds him. “Drunk and flirting with Canadians, my God.”

“I’m not drunk,” Alex insists. “Just haven’t eaten much, lately." He feels himself listing and struggles to remain upright.

***

Hamilton stumbles, and Jefferson catches him. “Jesus, man, when did you last eat?”

“I don’t know. Martha made me eat breakfast?” Hamilton says.

Thomas wracks his brain for a ‘Martha’ in Hamilton’s life. “Washington?” he asks, surprised.

Alexander nods. “Mama M says food comes first. I’m not good about stopping to eat,” he explains.

Ah, yes, the Treasury Secretary gets away with his antics because he’s the all-but-adopted son of the Washingtons. Thomas’ annoyance resurges sharply at the reminder that Hamilton thinks he’s above the rest of them.

“Why is Martha Washington making sure you eat breakfast?” he sneers.

“Betsy’n’Philip are upstate. I missed ‘em, and the Grands are with their mother, so the General made me come over. He says I need a minder,” Alexander confides.

Jefferson raises an eyebrow. “He’s not wrong.”

“He never is,” Hamilton agrees sagely. “I… I think I should go to bed.”

“I think you should. You said you’re staying here?” Thomas asks.

“East Wing’s the rooms,” Hamilton tells him. He winces. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll get you settled and I’ll bring you food and tea, no one needs to see you like this,” Jefferson laments. “We’re supposed to be making a good impression.”

Alexander leads them to his room and goes to change while Thomas bypasses the party and goes straight to the kitchens for food and tea. He gets a girl to promise to bring up a tray, and that should be that. But he remembers how lost Hamilton had looked, talking about his wife and son being away. It’s hard, when he’s so vulnerable, to remember why he despises Hamilton.

Anyway, he’s just making sure the drunk Secretary of Treasury is going to stay put. No one needs to see him like this- it won't do his reputation or the Cabinet’s any favors. That’s what he tells himself, as he goes back up to remind Hamilton sternly to eat his supper and get some sleep. He forgives himself for the moment of softness where he keeps Alex company while he eats, because the younger man is highly unlikely to remember any of this tomorrow.

***

“They aren’t in the hall or your office,” Madison reports.

“I asked one of the maids, and she said Thomas just had someone take a tray up to Alex’s room. Apparently, Alex was looking a bit under the weather and Thomas was ‘being very kind and helping him’.” Washington shakes his head. He’d seen the awkward mistletoe kiss, and the storm out. It had taken he and Madison each a few minutes to extricate themselves, and they’d expected to find bloodshed. 

The submissive Secretaries going off to Alex’s rooms, apparently not fighting, had not been one of the outcomes he’d expected. He’s about to say so when Jefferson reappears.

“There you are,” Madison says, relieved.

“He was drunk- said he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I got him some food and tea and told him to stay out of sight and get some rest,” Thomas reports.

“Good call,” James says, as Washington says, “Thank you for that.”

Jefferson shrugs. “Letting him embarrass himself wouldn’t do any of us any favors,” he admits. Washington had noticed Thomas running interference with Williams- the most influential and the most unpleasant of the Canadians- all night. He’s done it masterfully.

“And you kissing him was the safer choice?” Madison asks.

“Than him stumbling under the mistletoe with Williams’ boy toy? Yes,” Jefferson says with certainty. “A thousand times over.”

Washington feels his eyes widen in shock. Beside him, James looks equally stunned. “That was the right call, thank you,” George says after a moment.

“James promised you tonight would go smoothly,” Thomas says, brushing off the thanks. He’s a traditional enough sub that he treats his Dom’s reputation as his responsibility, including living up to his promises. Washington can appreciate that kind of loyalty.

“And I’ll show you how much I appreciate you helping me keep that promise later,” James promises quietly. Washington is one of the only people they’ve let know about their relationship. The three of them are the old Virginia team, from before the war, and they trust him with their secret. He’s only ever told Alex, and only then because he’d known Alex would be impossible when Thomas was around, but a thousand times worse if he thought the other man was talking down to him from a place of Dominance. It would’ve made a difficult situation untenable, so he’d broken their confidence but sworn Alex to secrecy. He doesn’t regret the choice.

“Well,” Thomas says, looking at both of them, “Let’s get the rest of this thing over with. I, for one, am looking forward to getting home.” He winks at his Dom as he says it, then disappears back into the main ballroom and the crowd gathered inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love to hear from you guys! ❤️💚❤️💚


	12. Theodosia(Jr)&Aaron, Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron loves Daddy/daughter days. Today, he and Theo are baking a surprise for Mommy.
> 
> Genre: Family fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, Indian Theodosia is here to stay. Also, I'm really loving the way these advent fics are letting me explore Aaron's life between the Alex moments- like, Alex was a big influence on him when they first met, but they went their own ways and saw much less of each other in the intervening years. I LOVE exploring what that time was like for Aaron, since we already know so much more about what it was like for Alex.

Daddy/Daughter days are some of Aaron’s favorites. He’s often busy at work during the week, but weekends are for family. He has ambitions, sure, but nothing is more important in his life than his girls, and his priorities reflect that. They’ve fallen into a routine where Theodosia spends Saturdays on errands or charity committee meetings or visits with friends 

It gives his wife a chance to have her own life and interests, separate from their family. Just like he has that, with his career. She’s passionate about womens and submissive’s rights. Aaron is incredibly proud of his brilliant wife and eagerly assists with events, fundraisers, and legal needs for the groups she works with.

But the other, selfish benefit to his wife having parts of her life that don’t involve him is that on Saturdays, when she’s out taking care of her commitments, he’s got their little girl all to himself. His daughter isn’t only precious and adorable and a combination of her parents’ better traits- she’s also fiercely independent, incredibly brave, and wickedly smart. He adores the time he gets with her, sharing knowledge and interests of his that she might like and learning more about hers. Theo never ceases to amaze him.

Today, they’re baking.

They have a housekeeper who sees to most of the food preparation around the house, but Theodosia loves to bake, especially around the holidays. Since Thanksgiving, she’s been filling the house with sweet smells and packing spice cake, pie, or cookies in his lunch every day. He’s having a hard time not overindulging, especially since Alexander is off setting up the Treasury Department and no longer in the office down the hall, willing to be tempted into taking a break by sweets.

Theodosia has made all of his favorites- her spice cake, the ginger cookies, an apple ginger crumble he fully intends to ask her to make again next week- and Theo’s favorite pretty sugar cookies and syrupy cherry pie but, Aaron has realized, she hasn’t taken the time to make her own. He and Theo are going to fix that, today.

He’s got some experience, baking. He’s often in charge of the dough for the cookies they decorate the Christmas tree with, for example, because Theodosia has a better hand at cutting out beautiful shapes and obviously Theo is in charge of decorating. But Theodosia’s absolute favorite dessert isn’t something he’s ever made before, or even attempted. It’s a simple enough recipe, he thinks, but it’s one he’s had to go to Theodosia’s cousin, Audrina, to ask about.

Audrina had been happy to share the recipe- an old family one, in fact- and walk him through the steps. He’s got his notes, now, and a brand new apron for Theo, who has grown a lot this year, and he kisses Theodosia goodbye on her way out the door and dresses in old, comfortable clothes he can get flour on before going to wake their daughter.

Theo bounces out of bed. “What are we doing today, Daddy?” she asks, her little voice high and sweet as he helps her get dressed.

“I thought we’d do something nice for Mommy and fun for us,” he says, tapping her nose as the head pops out of her dress. She scrunches it, then grins at him.

“What kind of fun?” she asks.

“How do you feel about baking?” he says.

“Oooh, Mommy lets me help sometimes but usually I’m busy learning when she bakes,” Theo tells him seriously. They’ve started her with a tutor this year, and she’s taken quickly to the lessons, but it does take up a lot of her time. “But I’m a good helper!”

“I know you are,” Aaron assures her. “And I got my good helper a pretty new apron. Do you want to see it?”

Theo does. She squeals when she opens it, holding it up and spinning around. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says, helping her put it on. “Now, what do you say we go get baking?”

In the kitchen, Theo surveys the ingredients. “What’re we makin’, Daddy? Cookies?” she asks.

“Not quite. You know those syrupy balls Mommy likes? Gulab jamun?” he asks.

“Oooh,” Theo says, intrigued. “Daddy, are we gonna make those?”

“We are, sweet pea,” he tells her. “I asked Aunt Audrina how, and she told me all about it.” He pulls out his detailed notes, showing his daughter the pieces of paper. “We can do this!”

Theo claps, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We can!” she says.

“Okay, first, we need mawa,” Aaron says, reading his notes.

Theo’s face scrunches in confusion. “What’s mawa?” she asks.

“It’s milk that’s thick,” Aaron tries to explain. “We cook it, but not super hot, for a really long time, and it gets thick.”

Theo nods sagely. “Then we should get started.”

Aaron had asked Beth to start the fires in the storve this morning so they’d be hot when he and Theo got downstairs, and she did, in addition to picking up everything he’d asked for at the early morning market. Now, he and Theo pour the milk into a pan and place it over one of the burners further from the heat.

“While that cooks, we need to make cheese curds,” he tells his daughter.

The instructions for the cheese curds are fairly straightforward, although Theo declares them, “Yucky. Daddy, it’s all lumpy!”

“I know, Theo, but we’ll squish it up until it’s not so lumpy, and you won’t even be able to tell in the finished balls,” he assures her. He hands her a wooden spoon. “Do you want to do the squishing?”

Theo does. Theo squishes the cheese curds as if they have personally wronged her and she is determined to obliterate them. These are the smoothest cheese curds known to man. When she shows him the bowl, he smiles proudly. “Good job! Ready to make sugar syrup?” he asks.

This is easier- and less gross. Theo  _ is _ very entertained by the ‘one string’ test Audrina had insisted was so important. She tests the syrup four or five times, licking her fingers clean each time. The house is beginning to smell like the sweetly flavored sugar syrup, and the mawa is done. This is going really well, Aaron thinks.

Except that he can’t find the next page of his instructions. He panics. “Theo, do you see any more of my papers?” he asks, looking around.

Theo looks around, then drops to the floor to look under things. “Daddy, I think it’s-” she reaches toward the stove, and he grabs her, pulling her back.

“Hot!” he yelps, pulling her to him. Then he takes a breath and tries again, more calmly. “The whole stove is hot, baby, not just the burners. I don’t want you getting too close to it,” he explains.

“But Daddy, your paper is under there,” Theo tells him patiently.

Aaron drops down to look. The paper has, indeed, fallen and slid under the table- probably on a gust of wind when one of them turned quickly or something. He puts his hands on his hips, considering this problem. “It’s not worth risking getting burnt,” he decides.

“But how will we make Mommy’s syrup balls?” Theo asks, worried. She knows her Daddy does nothing without a plan.

“We’ll…” Aaron isn’t sure what to do, actually.

“Wait, Daddy, I have an idea,” Theo announces, darting from the room. She returns a moment later with the yardstick. “We can slide it out!”

Except the paper won’t slide out, even when Aaron tries it. It’s too flat to hook, and slick enough that the yardstick just slides over it. “We’ll figure something out,” Aaron says, standing back up.

Theo is dunking her fingers into the cooling syrup again. “Theo,” he says.

“It’s sticky, Daddy,” Theo tells him. She spreads the syrup from her (hopefully clean?) fingers onto the end of the yardstick, slipping it under the stove and plopping the end down on the paper.

This time, it comes. Theo whoops in excitement, and Aaron hugs her, kissing her hair. “You’re brilliant!” he tells his daughter.

The page is slightly sticky and a little smeared now, but he can read the instructions. Theo helps him measure the ingredients, and she digs her (freshly washed) fingers into the dough to mix it. They roll it out and cut it up, rolling the balls companionably.

Theo rolls one across her hand, laughing as she watches it move. She giggles hard, and it bounces onto the floor. “Oh no!” she says.

“It’s okay, we made plenty. We’ll just throw that one away,” Aaron tells her.

Theo frowns. “I don’t wanna waste it,” she says.

Aaron wracks his brain for a solution. “We can… tear it up into smaller chunks and throw it in the garden for the squirrels and birds?” he suggests.

Theo is pleased with this solution, and begins tearing the ball into little pieces while Aaron finishes rolling out the ones that haven’t been on the floor. When she’s done, they take the crumbles outside and she stands in the middle of the back garden, twirling around with the crumbs in her hand so they scatter across the ground. “Eat, little animals! Eat!” she cries.

Aaron chuckles. “I’m sure they appreciate it,” he says.

Theo comes back to the door. “What do we do now?” she asks.

“Now we cook them,” Aaron tells her.

They go back into the kitchen, and Theo looks over the balls they’ve rolled. “They look so little,” she worries, frowning.

“They get bigger when you soak them in the syrup, I think,” Aaron explains.

“Oh, okay. How do we cook them? Do they bake?” she asks.

Aaron shakes his head. “No, we fry them in oil. This part is tricky- can you stand back and supervise?” he asks.

“Of course,” Theo says, taking a seat at the table in the middle of the kitchen, where they’d rolled out the balls. “I’ve gotta watch good so you don’t get hurt.”

Aaron grins at her, filling the pan with oil and setting it on the burner. “Thank you. I appreciate it. You can also lay a cloth out on a plate for me, so I can drain the balls once they cook,” he offers.

Theo does, bringing him the plate as he decides the oil is hot enough to begin cooking. He makes a few balls at a time, scooping them out with some difficulty. One gets away from him and drops back into the oil with a small splash.

“Daddy, be careful!” Theo calls. She takes her supervisory role very seriously.

“Sorry, sweet pea. I’ll try not to drop any more,” he tells her, putting the next batch into the oil.

Once they’re all fried and ready, he lets Theo drop them into the syrup. She has fun, trying to knock the balls across the sticky lake of syrup with each new one she drops in. A little splashes out, but Aaron wipes it up quickly, glad Theo is enjoying herself.

When the balls are all in the syrup, she asks, “Now what?”

“Now we leave them alone until Mommy gets home, and they soak and get extra yummy,” he says. “What should we do next?”

Theo thinks hard for a moment. “Mommy needs flowers,” she decides.

“We’ll go get her some, then,” Aaron says. They get into shoes and coats, but when he tries to stop at a flower seller, Theo tugs him forward.

“No, Daddy,” she says patiently. “We can’t just  _ buy _ Mommy flowers. We need to  _ find _ Mommy flowers, ourselves.”

They make the long walk to the fields, stopping in a small cafe on the way for cocoa when they get cold. Once there, they find a few flowers blooming, and Theo picks them carefully. They take their treasures home and put them in a vase, checking on the gulab jamun.

“They did get bigger!” Theo announces, pleased.

“What got bigger?” Theodosia asks, coming into the kitchen. “Did you? You look like you might be taller than you were last night!” she hugs her daughter, standing back up to kiss Aaron. “Hi, I got home and you were out,” she says. “I missed you.”

“We had a very important mission,” Aaron tells her, smiling.

“We got flowers!” Theo says, sweeping her arm dramatically toward the table to show off their find.

Theodosia’s eyes go wide. “That’s not all you got,” she says, looking at the large bowl of syrupy treats. “Where on earth did you find-”

“Audrina gave me instructions,” Aaron says.

Theodosia pulls both of them into her arms, hugging them tightly. “I can’t believe you made gulab jamun! They’re my favorite!” she says.

“We know, Mommy, that’s why!” Theo tells her. “Do you think they’re ready to eat?” she asks eagerly.

“I think so!” Theodosia says, and they all sample one. Then one more, just in case. Theodosia closes her eyes as she chews. “Perfect. I’m so impressed,” she says, grinning at Theo and then shooting Aaron a pleased, grateful smile.

“You always make sure we have our favorites. We like to take care of you, too,” he tells his wife, pulling her close and kissing her. She tastes of the rose syrup, cardamom and sweetness. Yes, he loves Daddy/daughter days. And one of the best parts is Theodosia coming home at the end, to hear all about it and share their excitement. He’s a very lucky man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think! Comments make me very, very happy.


	13. Revolutionary Set, Winter Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They rarely have days where none of them have responsibilities, during the war. They try to make the most of this one.
> 
> Genre: Fluff! Just fluff.

They don’t often have downtime all together. The four of them are all working hard for the revolutionary effort, in a variety of ways. But today, there’s nothing pressing they need to work on. The camp is beginning to feel stifling- so many soldiers, all waiting in tense, impatient nervousness for the call to action.

It’s John who suggests a solution.

“Maybe we should go for a walk?” he says. They’re all lounging around the room they share, as Washington’s aides-de-camp, here at Valley Forge. Hercules is sitting backwards in the desk chair, Laf is leaning against the desk, and John is lounging across the bed furthest from the door with Alex sprawled across him, head in his lap.

Lafayette hums doubtfully. “Outside? In this weather? Are you sure, mon ami?”

Alex rolls to look at him. “It’s  _ cold,” _ he complains.

“And we’re bored,” Hercules argues. “It could be good to get out for a little while.”

Lafayette begins to look intrigued. “It would be nice to get away for a bit.”

Alex shivers dramatically. “But it’s  _ cold _ out there,” he repeats, pushing himself up on his hands.

Lafayette stands, slinking forward to tease him. “Then someone will have to warm you back up, afterwards, mon petit,” he says, tilting Alex’s face up with a finger and leaning in as if for a kiss. He ghosts hot breath across Alex’s neck, then steps back.

Alex glares at him. “Mean,” he says.

Lafayette laughs. “I suppose you will have to find a way to get back at me.”

Alex pouts. “If I’m going outside, I want cocoa  _ and _ snuggles when we get back,” he decides.

John pets his hair. “We can do that, baby girl.”

“Then I  _ guess _ I’ll go on your stupid walk,” Alex says with a theatrical groan.

Hercules stands, offering John and Alex both a hand to draw them to their feet. “You’ll see, it’ll be nice to get out for a little while.”

They dress in their warmest ‘civilian’ clothes. Lafayette piles one of his sweaters onto Alex on top of his own clothes, kissing him playfully. “That should keep you warm,” he says.

“The kiss or the sweater?” Alex asks, chuckling. Lafayette winks.

“Come on, guys, daylight’s wasting!” John announces. Having grown up in South Carolina, he saw very little snow as a child and is absolutely delighted by it now. Alex, who grew up in the tropics, has the exact opposite reaction: he hates the cold.

“Does everybody have their hats?” Hercules asks. He knit them all hats when things started getting chilly. It’s a struggle to get Lafayette to wear his, but Hercules is adamant about nobody getting frostbite and insists their ears are vulnerable. 

“Yes, Maman, we are all dressed for the cold,” Laf teases Herc, who swats at him with his own hat before pulling it on.

“Alex, where are your gloves?” Herc continues. Those were a gift from Martha and George, thick, lined leather ones. Alex hadn’t had any proper gloves, and his fingers would be too stiff to grip a quill after he’d spent time outdoors.

Alex pulls them out- they aren’t tucked into his coat pocket, like the others, he keeps them put away safely in the nightstand. He pulls them on now.

“We ready?” John asks.

“Yes, maman ours, are we sufficiently bundled up?” Laf asks. Alex has had to explain to John that ‘maman ours’ means Mama Bear, and they both use it to tease Hercules sometimes, when he’s being overprotective. Alex enjoys the fussing too much to object most days, even jokingly.

Hercules looks them over critically, tightening Laf’s scarf just because he can. His eyes twinkle with amusement when he says, “I suppose it’s safe to let you out.”

They traipse through camp and into the forest. Alex, who rarely gets any further from a fire than he has to, this far into the winter, says, “Oooh,” stopping and turning in place as he gazes up at the frosty trees.

They’re twinkling in the sun with icicles on narrow branches, thicker trunks draped in dustings of powdery snow. It really is lovely. Lafayette wraps an arm around John’s waist. “This was a good idea,” he concedes.

When they reach a clearing, Hercules flops suddenly onto his back.

“Herc!” Alex cries, alarmed.

He’s about to rush over to the taller man when Herc holds up a hand. “I’m fine. Just thought I’d make a snow angel.”

He demonstrates, moving his arms and legs through the snow. John looks on critically. “How do you get up without messing it up?” he asks.

“Help,” Hercules explains, sitting up and holding out his hands. Alex is closest, and he goes to pull Herc up, but steps into a pile of snow that’s deeper than he expects and falls down onto him instead.

“Your snow angel’s wrecked,” Alex says sadly. “I’m sorry!”

Hercules just chuckles, pulling Alex out of the snow to rest on his chest. “It’s fine. Plenty of snow. I can make another,” he assures the smaller man. They get up, dusting the snow off of themselves, and this time Hercules shows Alex how to fall back onto the snow so that you don’t have too many tracks around you, muddying it up, and make the wings and skirt of the angel. Laf and John help them back up, and they survey their work.

“Pretty,” John says. Alex smiles.

“We should make a snowman,” Laf says.

They’re all freezing by the time they’ve rolled out their snowman’s first ball. “I think he should be a two ball snowman,” John declares, breathing hot air onto his wet gloves.

“I second the motion,” Alex agrees.

“Any objections?” Hercules asks. Laf opens his mouth, and Herc glares at him. “Then the motion passes.  _ Unopposed.” _

Laf sulks, taking the small ball he’d been rolling for the next part of the snowman and lobbing it at Hercules. Who skips snowballs entirely and tackles him into a drift, laughing. Laf rolls them, nearly knocking over John, who dances out of the way.

“Woah, keep me out of it! Alex and I are going to go find sticks for arms and rocks for the face while you  _ children _ sort yourselves out,” John declares, grabbing Alex and retreating.

Twin shouts of objection follow him, and a snowball glances off his shoulder, only half formed in haste, as they retreat.

By the time they’re back with small stones and two good ‘arm’ branches, Lafayette and Hercules have made the ball for the snowman’s head and are working together to put it in place. They get it on and step back with a flourish to show off their handiwork.

“Looks good,” John says.

“It looks drunk,” Alex counters. “Or sleepy.” The snowman is indeed listing to the side.

“It is a little screwy, just like all of us,” Laf declares, taking the branches from Alex and beginning to jab them in.

John has very specific plans for the buttons, which wind up involving Herc attempting to draw on lapels, and build a tiny snowman collar with handfuls of additional snow. The finished result looks vaguely like the snowman is wearing a mussed cravat. Alex adds the face, and they all step back to survey their work.

“Not bad,” Hercules says.

“I’m  _ freezing,” _ Alex complains. “How are you not an icicle? You were  _ rolling around in the snow.” _

“I grew up in New York, I’m used to it,” Herc says. Lafayette bundles Alex into his coat with him, rubbing the smaller man’s arms.

“Oui, ma petit, you are chilled through. I think it is time for the cocoa and snuggles you were promised, is it not?” Laf asks.

“Good plan,” John agrees, and they troupe back to camp, chilled and soaked and happy just to be together.

Back at the house that serves as their base of operations in the Valley Forge camp, they return to their room, taking off their wet clothes and changing into dry ones. Alex winds up with one of Hercules’ sweaters on top of his own clothes, this time, and they all go into the common room to warm up in front of the fire.

Hercules and John hang the wet things up to dry while Laf pulls pillows down in front of the fire to make a nest, pulling Alex into his lap as he settles into the warmth. Alex’s teeth have begun to chatter as they got changed, and Laf works now to warm him back up. John goes to make the cocoa as Hercules adds a blanket on top of the pile of strategists, slipping against Lafayette’s side and wrapping his arms around both of them.

By the time John returns with the cocoa, Alex is no longer so cold he needs to be held, but he’s warm and comfortable in Laf’s lap and not inclined to move. John considers taking Laf’s other side, then settles between Hercules’ spread legs instead, after passing everyone their drinks.

“Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, was it?” he asks, nudging Alex teasingly.

“I’ve had worse,” Alex admits with a smile.

“I’ll raise a glass to that,” Herc says, holding his cocoa aloft.

“To the four of us,” Lafayette agrees, raising his own.

They drink deeply, leaning into each other and passing the evening in laughter and companionship. John has spiked the cocoa liberally with whiskey, and when Laf gets up to make more, he does the same. Eventually, they stumble to bed together, warm and close on a cold winter night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun to write! I love these four so much. I'd love to hear what you think, as always! Thanks for reading! You guys rock!


	14. George/Martha, Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is staying with George and Martha while Eliza and Philip are upstate.
> 
> Genre: Fluff

He finds his wife standing in the doorway of Alexander’s room and wraps his arms around her from behind. 

“We did always want one of our own,” she says softly. “I just never expected you to bring him home in a too big officer’s uniform.”

“Life works out in funny ways,” George agrees. Alex is staying with them because he doesn’t do well in an empty house- Eliza and Philip are upstate with her father, but Alex has stayed to help him with a few more things at work before joining them. George and Martha had the ‘kids’ at Thanksgiving this year, and Philip Schuyler gets them for Christmas. They trade off, these days.

Martha pulls the door to Alexander’s room too, stepping back into the hall and turning to hug him properly. “I worry about him,” she admits. “Having him home… it’s nice.”

George nods. “I worry, too. But Eliza takes good care of him. And he’s never far away. He’s by my side every day, and at your table at least once a week.”

Martha frowns at him. “Him being by your side just means I have to worry over both of you. Being the kind of men you are… it’s important. Our country needs you both, desperately. But it’s a miracle you survived the war, and I worry every day another one will start up.”

“That’s why Alex and I are on top of things, so it doesn’t. I don't want him spending his life like I did, a soldier waiting on the next war. He's a writer and a statesman now- he'll draft the policies other men enforce and defend." Washington rubs her shoulders supportively.

Martha bites her lip. "He's already fought so much," she whispers.

"And long before he fought a war, even. But we've got him now. Home safe with us." George kisses his wife lightly.

Martha smiles. "I'm being silly, worrying over him wThishen he's tucked in safe in his room. Let's go to bed," she says, squeezing George's hands.

He pulls her against his side and they make their way to bed, sleeping easy knowing their boy is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the shortest thing I've written in this fandom, but it was an image that just hit me really strongly! I hope you guys like it.


	15. Angelica&Aaron, Icicles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Angelica makes Aaron think of ice, and one time he makes her think of thaw.
> 
> Genre: Character study, 5+1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is TWO AM I am so late! I'm so sorry, guys, a "couple of hours" to shoot some things turned into eight, and I got home after one not having even had time to spin yet! This is short but I am pretty proud of it- especially given how tired I am! Good night, much love!

1.

Aaron has always thought Angelica Schuyler was beautiful- the Burr's and the Schuyler's move in similar circles, so even if they've never spoken, they were aware of each other, growing up. The first time he speaks to her, her disdain cuts through him like ice. He shivers as she goes.

2.

Aaron feels an icicle stab through his heart, the first time he sees Alexander with Eliza Schuyler. He retreats to the balcony to watch, bereft. That's when he sees her. Angelica is watching Alex just like he is. They nod at each other- two solitary figures alone in the cold.

3.

He doesn't even notice her as he pushes Angelica carelessly aside, concerned only with Alex's panic. Later, he realizes how rude he's been, and to who. He glances at her, expecting icy daggers of reproach. Instead, he gets the first hint of thaw, and a look of fellow-feeling. She understands.

4.

Angelica Hamilton is like ice, he thinks: so clear and seemingly obvious, distorting the secrets held within. Both are beautiful in ways that will kill you, if you don't respect their power. He's not sure how this became his life, sitting across from her at family meals at Alex's side.

5.

If Alex is a summer hurricane, the girls round out the seasons: Eliza, all promise for the future and growth, like spring. Maria the warmth of home and hearth in autumn. And Angelica, the sharp, powerful chill of winter, beloved yet dangerous. He loves them all, this family of Alex's.

+1.

She used to think Aaron was cold, unfeeling. Fingers numb in the snow, turning the pages of a book. Out of touch or out of reach, as if a glacier separated him from those around him. She should have known it would be Alexander's warmth that would make him melt.


	16. Sam/Dom Hot Cocoa (D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dom walks into the room silently, chuckling at the sub tied to the headboard.
> 
> Genre: D/s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam from the sex toy shop finally gets his own fic!

The Dom walks into the room silently, chuckling at the sub tied to the headboard. “Having fun?” he asks. “Ah!” he says when the sub starts to respond. “Naughty boys who get themselves caught up in these kinds of situations should learn to keep their mouths shut. You never know what kind of trouble you’ll get into.”

The dark threat makes the sub laugh, full and hearty. “Trouble, huh? I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, you’ll see what I’m capable of. While you’re tied up and helpless, I’ve got it all figured out,” the Dom says, moving towards the bed. He examines the sub’s cuffs carefully.

Suddenly, he drops all pretense of menace. “Damn, Sam, these are clever! Why didn’t they work?” Nick unfastens Sam as he speaks, and the metalsmith pulls himself up to a seated position.

“I couldn’t bend my hand far enough to reach. I think I need a few links attached  _ to _ the wrist restraint,  _ then _ the quick release,” he says.

Nick solicitously checks his partner’s wrists, rubbing at the slight redness where he’d pressed the restraint against his flesh, trying to unfasten it. “They’re going to be a much more elegant solution than my tied ones when they’re done, that’s for sure.”

Nick is a leatherworker- he makes leather restraints and corsetry for the sex shop Sam and his brothers own. That’s how they met. Sam is the youngest of three brothers- and the only sub. When his father had died, leaving his implement business to his sons, Sam had suggested diversifying.

Growing up surrounded by Doms- Rudy, who is a tailor who specializes in scene garments, these days, and their middle brother, Theodore, who continued their father’s tradition of implement making- Sam had become a blacksmith to show his family that, whatever his orientation, he was every bit as strong and capable as his brothers.

It was when he’d begun working with chain that he’d seen the possibilities for the shop, and his father had agreed to stock a few restraints. Then Rudy had begun sewing cloth restraints, but those were too flimsy, so they enlisted Theodore’s help to try to make leather work, but he was used to working with leather in a much different context. They’d been looking for someone who could mix Theo’s leatherwork with Rudy’s pattern and sewing sensibility when they’d met Nick. He’d agreed to work on a few commissions for the shop.

That had turned into late night after late night, planning, sketching, and making models with Sam, who was the idea man behind their products. Eventually, Sam had begun suggesting they  _ test _ the new products, too. Nick put him off at first. He was there to work- he didn’t want a roll in the hay with the boss’ promiscuous youngest to squelch a great collaborative relationship.

When Rudolph Senior passed, everyone had been surprised he left the business to the  _ three _ boys, not to Theodore, who had followed him into his trade. It was Sam who tentatively suggested, “You know, we’ve been stocking some other products. What if we diversified? Sold  _ all _ of our products there? Like a General Store of Scene Gear?” And so Thompson General was born.

These days, they have a reputation as a one stop shop for scene related needs, from implements, to apparel, to restraints and collars. All of the brothers’ spouses are involved, too. Theo’s wife braids rope out of softer fibers than anything available anywhere else, and Rudy delighted everyone last year by proposing to the sweet nurse who mixes the post-scene salves and ointments they stock. It’s truly become a family business.

Nick was already a full partner when Rudy threw a pincushion at him one day and asked, “When are you going to put my brother out of our misery?”

“What?” Nick asked, shocked.

“Sam’s been in love with you for years, Dominic. If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m going to really start to wonder about your intelligence,” Rudolph told him.

“So, he flirts with me,” Nick said, waving it away. “He flirts with everyone. He  _ propositioned _ a customer yesterday.”

Rudy laughed at him. “He propositions the customers weekly. He’s only serious like, a third of the time. He thinks he’s being charming, and putting them at ease. No, I’ve seen Sam playing around, I’ve seen him seriously hot for someone… but I’ve never seen him the way he is with you. He’s in love, Nicky-boy.”

Dominic had put his head in his hands, asking, “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“What do you want to do?” Rudolph asked simply.

“Take him to bed and never let him go?” Dominic suggested.

“I’d appreciate it if you let him out occasionally, to make things. We just sold out of all of our two foot lengths and-” Rudy told him.

Dominic groaned. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and I’ll cover your shift with Mary today- he’s off. If, you know, you want to do something about it,” Rudy had told him.

So, instead of covering the store for the afternoon (they all took turns clerking, as well as crafting, so that there were experts in the different products available throughout the day) he’d gone home, cleaned up and dressed in his best suit, and gone to find Sam.

Sam had been bemused to be asked to dinner by his second favorite coworker (Mary, who Rudy had been working his way up to flirting with, back then, was  _ everyone’s _ favorite) but willing enough. When it had turned out to be a formal meal somewhere nice, not grabbing a drink at their usual bar, he’d been surprised. When Dominic had reached across the table and said, “I’d like to talk about our future. Together.” He’d been stunned.

He’s no longer as shocked by his Dom’s attention, these days, but he’s still every bit as smitten as he’d been back then. When Dominic is satisfied that he hasn’t damaged his wrists, Sam leans forward for a kiss.

Only to be stopped with a gentle finger on his lips. “We need to talk,” Nick says sternly. Sam frowns. “What did we agree about testing the new restraints?”

“Not alone, so I don’t get stuck somewhere uncomfortable. But Nick- I was  _ in bed. _ I knew you were coming home, and if you’d been late, I’d have taken a nap!” Sam insists.

“Did we say, ‘Not alone, unless you really want to?’ or did we say, ‘Not alone.’?” Nick asks firmly.

Sam looks away. “Not alone,” he admits.

“Why is that important?” Nick presses.

“The whole reason we’re developing quick release cuffs is because bondage can be frightening. Even if you think you’re okay. We’re doing this to  _ keep _ subs from winding up in scary or uncomfortable situations, putting me in them to test the things defeats the purpose,” Sam tells his Dom, shamefaced. “I got carried away- I really thought they were going to work.”

“The design of the clasp is sound. And you have a plan for accessibility, now. I’m not faulting the design work. But I do have a problem with walking in and finding you helpless. What if someone broke in? What if you’d needed to pee? Hell, what if I’d come in but not come in, and you could hear me moving around but didn’t know for sure it was me?” Nick scolds.

Sam hangs his head. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Nick hmms. “This isn’t the first time we’ve discussed this. Bring me something from the third drawer, please. Your choice.”

Being a family that makes scene implements, they have a large personal collection. Sam and Nick have sorted theirs into a small chest of drawers- the first drawer is things Sam loves. The second is things that are sometimes fun, sometimes unpleasant, depending on what Nick does with them. The third are things that are almost always used for punishment- though they can occasionally be used for the endorphin rush in an intense scene. The fourth drawer is things that he  _ hates, _ that only ever come out for discipline. When they get something new, they sort it by where they  _ expect _ it to land, then move it if they’re wrong.

Sam swallows, but doesn’t argue. At least it isn’t the fourth drawer. He goes to pick what his Dom will punish him with. They set the drawer system up to give them the option of Sam having choices- sometimes, Nick sends him to get something specific. Sometimes, he names a drawer and leaves the choice to Sam.

They aren’t all spanking implements. There are also gags (which he doesn’t like), restraints- none of which are below drawer two, as Sam  _ loves _ being tied down- and other ‘toys’. Sam considers bringing Nick a gag- he really doesn’t like them, and if he does, his Dom will probably either put him in the corner wearing it or spank him while it’s on. That’s the trick- he chooses the item, but Nick decides how it factors into his punishment.

Instead, he reaches for something new, hesitating. It’s a blindfold. They haven’t played with removing his sight before, but Nick and Rudy have been working on cushioned ones, shaped to fit the face, and Nick brought one home to try. Sam isn’t a fan of the idea, really- not scared, just not intrigued. He considers it now because of what Nick reminded him- he’d left himself  _ helpless _ by being careless of the rules. Blind, he would certainly be helpless in a whole new way.

It scares him a little, and that’s ultimately why he reaches for it. Because he scared Nick, tying himself up because he’d been overconfident about his new clasp mechanism. His Dom raises an eyebrow when he returns with the blindfold.

“Words?” Dominic checks.

“Gold for good, silver for slow, steel for stop,” Sam recites. Dom doesn’t always remind him of his words, but given that they’re trying something new during punishment tonight it’s not entirely surprising.

“You’re going to wear it for half an hour, unless you need to safeword. We’ll go about your punishment during that time, but you won’t be able to see what I’m doing. If the blindfold is too much, we’ll stop and remove it and when you’re ready, we’ll finish the punishment without it,” Nick tells him. Sam appreciates the reassurance that enduring the blindfold if it really freaks him out isn’t a necessary part of the punishment. He’s apprehensive, but sure his Dom will take good care of him.

Sam nods his understanding, and Nick carefully fastens the blindfold around his eyes, checking that the knot isn’t too tight. Sam immediately shakes his head a little, trying to let some light in. None escapes.

“Can you see at all?” Nick asks. 

Sam gulps. “No,” he admits.

“Good. Then sit here,” Nick guides him back to the bed, pressing on his shoulder to prompt him to sit, “And I’ll be right back. I won’t leave the room with you blindfolded, for any reason.”

The reassurance helps. The sound of his Dom going back to the drawers  _ does not. _ Sam isn’t an idiot- he’d been pretty sure he’d be getting some kind of spanking during this session, but he doesn’t like not knowing what’s coming. He can’t even tell which drawer his Dom is  _ in. _

He does hear Nick as he walks back over. His Dom sets something down on the bed, then sits beside him. Sam goes as he’s tugged to his feet, feeling his Dom removing his braces- he’d been in just his shirt and breeches, since he was working and testing. He feels himself being bared and wishes again he could see Nick’s face. He knows his Dom’s mouth is set in stern, determined lines, and he hates that look, but he wishes for it now. Just so he’d know.

Then, he feels Nick tug him into place. He goes, lying across his Dom’s lap. He can picture himself in his mind’s eye in the familiar position- arms wrapped around a pillow he’d reached for instinctively, pushed forward so that his hips bend at the edge of Nick’s legs, his backside and upper thighs spread across his Dom’s lap ready for correction.

Nick doesn’t make him wait long for the first spank. Sam jumps, and is immediately surprised to realize it was only his Dom’s hand. Whatever Nick got out of the drawer, he’s not using it yet.

The first volley of sharp spanks stings plenty regardless, though. He gasps as his backside begins to sting. When Nick pauses, he feels his whole body go tense. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but he knows they aren’t done.

Nick’s warm hands squeezing his cheeks, gripping and massaging the muscles is not what h expects. He’s just begun to relax- this feels nice, after all- when Nick pinches him, low on his right cheek.

“Ah!” he yelps. The pinch wasn’t hard, but he absolutely hadn’t expected it. He feels Nick twist, and when his Dom’s hand leaves his backside he expects it to come back with an implement. But Nick just gives him another flurry of hard hand spanks. The spanks slow gradually but get harder, and they’re landing randomly across his backside and thighs. Sam can’t anticipate them at all, he only knows they hurt.

The spanks transition abruptly, without a break in the rhythm, to stinging blows of something harder than Nick’s hand. Sam  _ thinks _ it’s the small wooden paddle they keep in drawer two, but he’s not sure, and the surprise keeps him on edge Nick begins varying his speed, giving Sam even  _ less _ to predict. He’s totally at sea, now, helpless to do anything but accept his punishment.

Something in his body or the noises he’s making must change, because, without pausing, Nick asks, “How are you doing with the blindfold?”

Sam takes stock. “Silver,” he admits.

The paddling continues, but Nick falls back into a more predictable rhythm. That’s  _ much _ better. “Gold,” Sam announces, not waiting for the prompt.

“Good boy,” Nick tells him- then surprises him by switching to something leather- some kind of strap.

Sam gasps, but his Dom knows he’s okay. He’s got the anchor of consistent rhythm and intensity to reassure him, even if he doesn’t know what  _ kind _ of pain to accept next. He gets a dozen licks with the strap spread across his sore cheeks before Nick stops.

The Dom spends a few more minutes touching him- occasionally squeezing hard enough to burn, or pinching slightly- nothing that would bruise- and sometimes just rubbing soothingly. It’s keeping him off balance, but he’s okay.

Eventually, Nick resumes spanking with his hand, giving Sam leisurely, firm spanks with a few seconds between each blow. Sam absorbs them, moaning when a stroke finds a tender spot. It hurts, but he’s okay- he’s not feeling adrift or disconnected like he was earlier, just off balance.

Even when his Dom gives him a hard spank, unexpectedly, with a larger paddle than before. Sam yelps, feeling himself kick without meaning to. He gets five more paddle whacks, across both cheeks. Not severe, but sincerely sore. Sam gasps and twists against them, relaxing when he feels his Dom set the paddle aside- touching his knee with it, obviously so Sam knows that part, at least, is over.

“We’re done with your spanking,” his Dom tells him after the last one, “But we aren’t done with the blindfold, which means we aren’t done with your punishment. How are you doing?” he asks.

Sam is crying, so he takes a steadying breath. “Si-ilver?” he says, unsure.

“You don’t sound sure,” Nick checks.

“If you’re done spanking me, I don’t know what I have to do next,” Sam admits. “I don’t know if I can do it, if I can’t see.”

“I’m going to help you sit up,” Nick tells him. “Then, I’m going to tie your hands in front of you. You don’t have to do anything but follow me, and do what I tell you.”

Sam nods. “Yes, sir.”

The cuffs are a relief, closing across his wrists. Sam always feels steadier, restrained. It’s a clear sign that Nick is in charge, and he doesn’t have to take responsibility. He’s grateful for that bit of mercy, as his Dom pulls his clothes back up and guides him through the house. Nick’s hand on his arm is his anchor- if he can feel his Dom, he knows he’s okay.

Sam  _ lives _ in this house. He should not be confused. But Nick turns him oddly, as they walk, and he finds himself disoriented. Doubly so when Nick directs him to kneel, and he finds himself unexpectedly on a pillow. Nick hums loudly as he lets go, which is great because it lets Sam follow his voice but awkward because it means Sam can’t pick out clues as to what his Dom is doing.

Eventually, he’s guided to his feet and handed the pillow to carry. His Dom guides him with a forearm pressed against his arm, stopping him once and saying, “Wait! Turn right. A little more, good,” at one point, when he presumably nearly walks into something.

Then Nick guides him to sit, pulling him to curl against his Dom. Sam is confused for a moment, until Nick pulls the blindfold off.

“That was thirty minutes- and you did so well,” Nick tells him. “How do you feel?”

“Okay,” Sam says. “Relieved.” He burrows closer to his Dom. “Still a little nervous.”

Nick hums in agreement and pours them both cocoa- Sam realizes then he must have knelt on the pillow in the kitchen, while Nick prepared it earlier. He takes the mug gratefully. It’s so like his Dom, to be prepping aftercare and taking care of him  _ during _ his punishment.

“I was surprised you picked the blindfold,” Nick says. He’s not demanding answers, but he’s giving Sam the space to offer explanations.

He decides he’s ready to talk about it. “It made me helpless, but safely this time. You were punishing me for being helpless  _ unsafely, _ but with something I  _ felt _ safer about,” he explains. “And…” he trails off.

“What?” Nick prompts, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair.

“It scared me. Nothing else in there was scary- unpleasant, but not scary. I scared you, when you came in. You were scared of what could’ve happened to me,” Sam confesses.

Nick kisses his head. “I was. But you didn’t have to put yourself through that for me.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Sam admits. “I mean, it was hard… but it definitely instilled a more healthy fear of tying myself up alone than I had, before. I get how I  _ should’ve _ felt, about being tied up alone at home.”

“Between how secure restraints make you feel, and the fact that you literally craft your own, I can see why they don’t scare you. But I’m glad to hear you’ll think twice about tying yourself up alone next time,” Nick says, sipping his cocoa.

“What was harder or easier?” he asks, after a long moment.

“Anchors. I needed an anchor. The rhythm, when you were spanking- even if the implement changed, consistent rhythm anchored me. Or you touching me while we moved. I really appreciated the humming, in the kitchen. Even if it kept me from figuring ou where we were or what you were doing,” Sam says.

“Okay, that makes sense. I can work with that. I’m glad the humming helped,” Nick tells him. “Now, do you want to consider blindfolding for fun, keep it around for punishment only, or toss it?” he asks.

“Can I decide tomorrow?” Sam asks. “I’m not sure how I feel yet.”

“Absolutely. We’ll table that for tomorrow, and for now we’ll just enjoy our cocoa,” Nick says, tugging him closer and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch to wrap around them. They curl up together as they sip their drinks, warm and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I named Sam's Dom Dominic. I read the prompt as "Samuel and Dominic" like they were both nicknames and then realized there wasn't a Dominic in this verse... so I decided Sam's Dom could have the name!
> 
> I hope this backstory on the shop is appreciated, and on Sam. he's a lot of fun! I really enjoyed playing with his story a little today.
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! Also if anything is sparking stuff you want to see more of- I'm finding this whole advent thing is giving me IDEAS.


	17. Alex and Martha, Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha loves to fill the house with Christmas smells, even if it is the officer's house at Valley Forge.
> 
> Genre: Hurt/Comfort, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you only want the fluff, start at the *** where the two parts break. This fic became very full of feelings, very fast, long before I got to the fluffy cookie making I originally intended to write. They're good feelings, but Alex is a little blindsided by Mama M's presence in his life at first.
> 
> It's also almost 5,000 words, which is why I'm posting late- I sat down thinking this would be a quick write but then I got *inspired*.

Martha Washington arrives in Valley Forge determined to make Christmas happen, whether they are at war or not. She isn’t always with the army- particularly when they’re moving around a lot, or under frequent attack at their base, George prefers that she stay home at Mount Vernon where it’s safe. But Christmas is important to them- they were married on Epiphany, after all- the last of the twelve days of Christmas.

She didn’t anticipate how important Christmas would be to the little family George has put together. His aides live in the house, all piled into one room- she’d wondered, at first, about him making the three of them share a bedroom. That had lasted only the first day she’d known them. By the time she’d understood their unorthodox relationship (and their missing fourth partner, away spying for George), she’d already grown deeply fond of the young men.

John Laurens is perhaps the most straightforward. He’s from a good family, and he has a father and siblings in South Carolina. His father was President of the Continental Congress after Hancock, and so he’s used to ‘society’, but also politics, and he’s clearly got memories of Christmas similar to the ones she’s used to hosting at home. He appreciates the effort she’s putting into the holiday, and helps where he can. John is a good boy.

Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, is not at all what she expected. Initially, she’d expected the French military advisor her husband mentioned to be older, more serious, perhaps. But Gil is a ball of energy and enthusiasm, for Christmas as much as for the war. He shares traditions from France, some of his homesickness coming through. She doesn’t forget, either, that poor Gil lost his parents a few years ago. George’s steady presence and Martha’s own maternal care seem to soothe that loss, just a little.

And none of them have known loss like poor Alexander. Alexander Hamilton is her husband’s right hand, his most senior aide and his most trusted advisor. He’s also a foolhardy boy who reminds Martha of no one so much as George when she first met him- without the tempering of good breeding and a proper education. George actually prepped her before he introduced her to Alexander- warned her that he was a bit abrupt, intense, and rough around the edges- but that his mind was incredible and his heart absolutely in the right place. With her husband’s warning in mind, she’d loved him from that very first night.

Alexander might as well be Alexander Washington, the way George fusses over him. The General, as the boy always calls him- full of respect and deference but also affection, somehow, the name sounding almost like ‘Father’ from his tongue- is focused on teaching Alex to lead. The boy can plan an attack, write a call to action, give a speech, fight a battle. But he doesn’t have any confidence in himself, and it gets him into trouble.

He doesn’t have any confidence in his place, either, with the army or with them. She supposes it makes sense- abandoned by his father, separated from his brother while his single mother struggled to take care of him, only to have her die, leaving him to a cousin whose suicide cetainly felt like abandonment to the young man- Alex has never had the certainty of permanent roots. And an Army camp isn’t the place to try to build them.

Martha thinks she’d quite like to see him put down a few in Mount Vernon. The only one of her children who is still alive is Jacky, and she loves him dearly- but she loves Alex too, and she struggles to show him that there’s a  _ permanent _ place in their family for him, not only while George needs him on the battlefield.

To that end, she works to include him in as many of the holiday preparations as possible. Poor Alexander has never had what she would call a ‘proper’ Christmas before- even when he had a family, they’d simply been too poor to afford one! He greets each bit of the preparation with wide eyed wonder she hasn’t seen since her children were young. John and Gil are thrilled when she announces they’re doing a ‘family’ Christmas on Christmas Eve, before the celebrations with the men the day of. But Alex is absolutely shocked- either at what it entails or just to be included. Possibly both, she isn’t sure.

Alexander learns to make spiced cider and mulled wine that fill the whole house with the rich smells, truly making it  _ feel _ like Christmas, even in the little officer’s house. He cuts carefully, hesitantly, eager to do anything she asks of him but worried about making a mistake.

She realizes she’s miscalculated when she makes cocoa one night, teaching Alexander the steps as she does. He’s an eager learner, but he helps her bring it out then disappears. She finds him in the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes.

“Alexander, dear, what are you doing?” she asks softly. It’s possible the family gathering in the front room had overwhelmed him- sometimes their love is more than he knows what to do with.

“I just wanted to try it! I’m sorry, I should’ve asked,” he says, going to pour out the mug of cocoa he’s got sitting to the side of the wash basin.

“No!” Martha doesn’t mean for her voice to be so loud, or so sharp. But she absolutely hadn’t been asking Alex why he’d felt entitled to some cocoa.

He shrinks back from her all the same, going quiet and still, eyes firmly planted on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Oh, love,” she says, aching to reach for him but having learned not to, when he’s feeling like this. George warned her- he’d panicked once and struck out at the General, when George had seen that Alex was upset and tried to hug him. She doesn’t know how any of them would cope if she spooked him and he struck  _ her- _ she’s not sure they’d ever see him again, or if he’d run so far not even George could bring him home.

“What are you apologizing for?” she asks instead, keeping her voice soft.

“I should’ve cleaned up, first. And I should’ve asked,” he says. He looks up quickly, to check her expression, then glances back down. “I’m allowed to ask, right? If I want to- to join in. You don’t mind, as long as I pull my weight,” he checks.

Martha reaches up to cover her mouth, tears threatening. She should’ve realized. Alex is used to being a servant, not part of the family. John or Gil helps her with a smile, just like George does or Jacky would, because they all pull together at times like this, when servants are a luxury they can’t allow themselves, all resources in camp being better used elsewhere. Even in more normal times, there are certain parts of preparing for the holidays she likes to do herself, as a way of taking care of the people she loves. Gil and John are likely used to the same behavior from their families.

Alex, on the other hand… Alex is used to being thought of as less. Being expected to do all of the work, and be grateful for whatever pathetic scraps he’s offered. Alex won’t have seen her bringing him into the kitchen as the maternal bonding experience she meant for it to be- he clearly sees himself as a servant, helping the lady of the house. Even as the General’s right hand, professionally, he sees himself as a different class, personally.

She makes a small, pained noise, a single tear dripping down. Alex looks up at the sound, paling when he sees how upset she is. Then, he scares the hell out of her- by kneeling. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Washington. Mistress? I don’t know what to call you. I’m sorry,” he babbles. “I didn’t mean to- I’m not sure what I did. I’m so sorry!”

“Mama M, baby, please just call me Mama M,” she says, wanting to pull him to his feet and settling for kneeling alongside him instead. She holds out her arms, but she’s unsurprised when he stays where he is.

“I can’t-” he argues, looking up in surprise.

“Alexander Hamilton, don’t you  _ dare _ presume to tell me you are not worthy of your place in my heart,” she says, cutting him off sternly.

Alex’s mouth opens and closes, struggling for words. “I’m-”

“And heaven help me, if you apologize again, I will take you over my knee this instant.” His mouth snaps closed. “Say, ‘Yes, Mama M,’ please,” she prompts.

“Yes, Mama M,” he parrots, mimicking her inflection exactly. That’s not any better- he’s trying to please her, he has been all along. But he doesn’t  _ understand, _ and she’s not sure how to explain. Where did the disconnect happen? Perhaps because she’s singled him out- she’s heard Gil tease him about being her favorite, but she’s not sure he knows he  _ actually is. _

“Alex, honey… I’m the one who needs to apologize,” she says.

“No!” Alex argues immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you’ve been so generous,” he tells her. “I took advantage. I’ve gotten used to… I’m sorry. The General said to be on my best behavior for you and I…” He somehow loses what little color he has left as something occurs to him. His voice is a desperate whisper when he continues.

“Please don’t tell him,” he begs. “Please, I know I messed up, I upset you, I deserve whatever you want to do to me, but  _ please _ don’t tell the General.”

There’s real fear in his voice, of  _ George. _ George, who wrote to her only weeks after hiring Alexander to tell her about him, marveling at the way he felt drawn to protect and guide the young man and the eager way Alex soaked up the attention. George has never really gotten to be a father, before. He has a good relationship with her children, but they always viewed him as a step-parent, partially out of loyalty to their late father’s side of the family and partially due to George’s frequent absences for his military service.

She tries to figure out how to explain that to Alex. “George and I  _ will _ talk about this, because we talk about you. Because we worry about you, and are proud of you, and fuss over you. Because we love you, sweetheart,” she tells him. “Not because I’m unhappy with you and I want him to sort it out.”

“You’ve only known me a few weeks,” Alex tells her flatly, disbelieving.

“I feel like I’ve known you since you started working with my husband, as often as he’s mentioned you in his letters,” Martha assures him fondly. “He’s very fond of you, Alex, you must know that.”

Alex shrugs. “I’m useful,” he admits.

“Yes, you certainly are. But plenty of men are useful, as soldiers, without being personally important to George. You’re special,” she says. “Even among the aides- we’re very fond of all three of you. But you have a special place in our hearts.”

Alex blinks at her, apparently not sure what to say.

“I’ve heard Gil tease you about being my favorite. He’s right,” she tells him conspiratorially.

Alex blushes, looking suddenly shy and so painfully young she can’t help holding her arms out again. “Come here, little one. And let’s see if we can’t sort out what went wrong.”

Alex shifts to lean against her side awkwardly, stiffly. As if he’s not sure how to be held by a parent. Alex, she suspects, isn’t really sure how to be held by anyone. He’s looked scandalized when John or Gil hugs or touches him in front of her, and she’d discovered his relationship with the other two because the first night after she arrived they’d all drunk too much and Alex had thought Gil wanted more than a cuddle when he stretched out alongside him on the couch. Luckily, John had bundled them off to their room. With John and Gil, he assumes affection is sexual. With her, he clearly doesn’t know what to think of it at all.

“Did you know I had a daughter, about your age?” she asks him. “She would be just a year older than you, now.”

“I knew Jack used to have a sister,” Alex acknowledges carefully.

“George used to say he wasn’t sure she and I left the kitchen during December at all,” Martha remembers. “I like to keep the house smelling like Christmas, as much as possible. And that means baking, or making drinks that simmer for a long time. So we were usually cooking, getting into the staff’s way.”

“Like you have been lately,” Alex realizes.

Martha smiles at him. “Just like that. Poor Bess is having to work around me in a much smaller kitchen than the one in Mount Vernon,” she says with a small laugh. Bess is the housekeeper who keeps the command post in order, as well as tending to soldiers who are injured or sick. She keeps the General and his aides fed and cleans up after them, but they do their best to leave her free to be with the wounded as much as possible.

“And she’s busy elsewhere. That’s why you need help,” Alex agrees.

Martha shakes her head gently. “Alex, I’m more than capable of doing all of the things we’ve been doing alone. I don’t need an extra pair of hands to get them done- though you do make a lot less work for me, and I’m very grateful. But all of the fuss I put into Christmas is my way of taking care of the people I care about. I wanted you to get to be part of that.”

Alex nods, understanding. “You know I’m a sub, so you figured I’d want to help. John and Gil and I aren’t… like that. I’m their lover,” he blushes at the word, “but I’m not their sub. John isn’t my Dom.”

“I’d inferred that much,” Martha tells him. “No, it has nothing to do with orientation. Jacky is a switch, and he rarely helps me in the kitchen. And Patsy was actually a Domme. It’s just that many of my favorite parts of Christmas are wrapped up in all of these preparations, and I wanted to share that with you. Not just the final product, but the memories we create  _ doing _ it.”

Alex processes this. “Share it with me?” he repeats, confused.

“I want you to have those good memories, too,” she explains. “But if you aren’t enjoying yourself, you don’t need to help me any more.”

“No!” Alex insists, immediately. He’s vehement when he continues, “I like helping you! And it’s nice to learn. I just… I thought you were showing me how you like things done. Like it was my job to do it, once I knew how. Not that you wanted to do it together.”

“You aren’t a servant, Alex, who I expect to give instructions so I don’t have to do any of the work. You’re a part of this family. I didn’t expect George to build a family in a base camp in the middle of a rebellion, but he’s done it, and I have to say I’m pleased with the results,” she says.

“Washington’s Family,” Alex says, the capitalization obvious even aloud. “You do both insist on family meals,” he realizes.

“At first, I wanted to get to know you because you’re so important to George,” she admits. “But as soon as I did, you became important to me, too.”

Alex snuggles against her, tentatively. “You’re important to me, too,” he confesses. “Mama M? Is that really okay?” he checks. “Calling you that?”

“It’s more than okay, I’d prefer it. You’re welcome to use Martha if you’d rather. But baby, it broke my heart, you kneeling and calling me Mistress like I was some cruel Lady of the House come to scream at you,” she tells him.

“In my experience, ladies who want to be addressed as Mistress don’t limit themselves to just screaming at the servants,” Alex says jokingly.

That is not even remotely funny, but this isn’t the time to get into it. “Regardless,” she says, “That’s not who I want to be, for you. I want to look after you, and fuss over you, and celebrate your accomplishments and teach you things, not boss you around.”

“I’m not used to having a family, anymore,” Alex admits.

“I know, sweetheart.” She kisses the side of his head. “But I would very much like to help you figure out how to be part of one, again.”

“Okay, Mama M,” he says, his voice more sure of the title this time.

“Good boy,” she says, stroking his hair. He leans into her touch a little more confidently than before. It’s a start.

*****

Martha has been limiting her holiday baking, due to the supply shortages. But she’d like to see every soldier get a little bit of Christmas cheer, so two days before Christmas Eve, she begins baking. She gathers supplies- they’ll have to be small cookies, but she and the head cook have agreed that it’s doable. She’s making the officers’ herself, while the cooks work on cookies for the enlisted men. Even then, the amount of baking before her is daunting.

It’s not a training day, so the boys are all lazing in front of the fire. Martha smiles at them, thinking she has the perfect tasters for her test batch. “Alex,” she calls, “Do you want to come help me with something?”

She’s started asking Alex if he  _ wants _ to help, not if he’s  _ able _ to help, and she reminds him frequently he’s allowed to say no. He hasn’t yet, though, and she’s not surprised when he sits up from where he’d had his head in Gil’s lap, bouncing to his feet.

“What about us?” Gil complains. “You’ve stolen my Alex.”

“You two keep the fire going and get ready to be taste testers,” Martha tells them fondly.

“I don’t know about you, Laf, but that’s  _ my _ favorite job in the kitchen!” John says.

“Then I suppose we shall endure,” Gil says, draping himself across the couch arm dramatically.

Alex laughs as they walk back to the kitchen. “What are we making?” he asks.

“Cookies. My goal is to make enough for all of the officers.” Alex’s eyes widen. “But for now, we’re just going to do a test batch for the Family,” she assures him. “You don’t have to spend the next two days baking with me constantly, I just thought you’d like to help with the ones that are for us.”

Alex quite enjoys mixing the dough, helping her get it smooth. Rolling it out frustrates him, but he loves cutting the cookies out. He traces fanciful shapes into the dough, picking them up with infinite patience to lay them out without squishing his hearts,stars, and trees.

There isn’t enough sugar to ice this batch, so they let them cool plain. Alex breaks one as he lifts it from the tray, and he winces, upset.

“Oh, that’s the best part, dear,” she tells him, picking up the two pieces and handing him one.

“What?” Alex asks.

“When you do the baking, and something goes wrong, you can always just eat the evidence,” she says, popping her half of the broken star into her mouth. Alex grins at her and does the same.

His eyes go wide. “These are really good!” he says, pleased.

Martha smiles at him. “They are. You did a terrific job on your first batch of cookies.”

“I was thinking, though,” Alex says.

“What?” Martha asks, surprised.

“If you’re going to make dozens and dozens, we need to be efficient. It took us way longer to prepare a batch than to cook it,” he says.

“Making more dough at once backfires because it’s harder to mix evenly,” Martha explains. “It’s just a slow process.”

“It doesn’t need to be,” Alex tells her. “We can streamline it so that there’s always a set ready to cook when the last ones come out.”

“I do have a second pan,” Martha offers. “But as you said, mixing them takes more time, and we need to get them off the pan so we can start the next batch.”

“What we need is more helpers,” Alex suggests, smiling. “You said we’re doing icing for the ones for the officers?”

“Yes, and that takes a lot of mixing,” she warns him.

“I’ll be right back,” Alex announces, disappearing down the hall. He returns a moment later with John, Gil, and George.

“John, you’re going to help Mama M with the icing- I don’t know how to do that. Gil, you’re in charge of measuring and mixing ingredients. General, you roll them out- you’ll be able to get them even. And I’ll cut them and get them on the tray. By the time we have a batch ready for Mama M and John, they’ll have icing made and they can take them off to ice as they cool,” Alex tells them all.

George’s eyes twinkle with amusement as his second gives them all their marching orders. “And if I didn’t intend to spend my day making cookies?” he asks.

“Then you don’t get any,” Alex says, nodding as if that’s the end of it. Martha covers her mouth to hide a laugh. Alex with a plan is a sight to behold- his hesitance fades away and he orders them all around with confidence.

Alex’s plan works, though, and even with so many people crowded into the tiny kitchen and Gil occasionally flicking flour at someone or sneaking a taste of icing, the method works smoothly, cutting her ‘two days of baking’ down to one afternoon. When they’re done, Alex chivies them all into the sitting room, joining them a few minutes later with cocoa he had started while the last batch cooked and cooled and the rest of the first batch.

“That,” Martha says, sipping her cocoa, “Was incredible. Alex, I can’t believe how efficient that was.”

The confident leader morphs back into the shy boy at her praise. “It was nothing,” he tells her.

“Alex just likes bossing us around,” John says, teasing him. “Especially Washington.”

Alex blushes scarlet, apparently only now realizing he’d dragged the General away from his work for cookie making. “Sir, I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says faintly.

“I would’ve said something if you had, Alex,” George assures him gently. “It was a good idea. Best use of everyone’s effort, and you were right, you needed each of us. This just means you’ll have to spend tomorrow helping me catch up on correspondence.”

Alex smiles. “Glad to!” he says. John and Gil open and sort mail, when George is slammed. But only Alex is trusted to answer all but the most basic inquiries, and he revels in the trust. He also greatly enjoys working one on one with his mentor, soaking up George’s attention.

Martha spends the next day among the men, dragging John and Gil with her to greet and encourage the troops while George and Alex get enough work done that they can take Christmas Eve off without guilt.

Then it’s finally Christmas Eve, and Martha starts their Family Christmas off with spiced porridge at breakfast and a lazy morning around the fire for all of them. As noon approaches, though, she gets up. “I have work to do, if we’re going to have supper. And I need some help,” she announces.

Alex immediately stands. “Not you, Alex. Gil and John will help me today, there’s something else I need you and George to do,” she says. “We need a Christmas tree.”

“We’re on it,” George says, putting an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Come on, son,” he says, leading Alex to get their coats before heading outside.

In the kitchen, Martha gives the boys the large bowls of popcorn she’s already popped, along with needles and string. “We need garland,” she says. She’d made a few cookie ornaments the night before, wanting to surprise them all with the plans for a tree. The surprise seems to have worked, and they all get to work. While they work on decorations, Martha begins preparing Christmas Dinner, even if it is still technically Christmas Eve.

They have decorations ready by the time George and Alex return, red cheeked from the cold and cheerful, with a small tree. Alex absolutely glows at everyone’s praise of the tree, especially when George announces that he’d picked it out.

They set it up in the sitting room, decorating it together before supper. Everyone sneaks off once it’s up, coming up with pretenses to return to their room and coming back with wrapped presents- all small things, but trinkets for each other. They eat supper together happily, the simple meal that was the best she could do, given the supplies, full of warmth and companionship, then return to the sitting room to open presents.

Gilbert brought back books from his last trip into the city, and everyone opens them appreciatively. Alex in particular strokes the cover of his delicately- he’s voracious about the written word, now that it’s more available. He’ll read his book the fastest, and probably borrow everyone else’s before too long.

Gil surprises the boys with one other thing he brought back- Hercules, their missing fourth member, has sent along knitted hats. He’s on a fact finding mission that went from a few days to a couple of months when he realized that, as a tailor, the British didn’t seem to realize he had rebel sympathies. They’re seriously considering a more formal spying operation, Martha knows. She also knows the boys miss him desperately, and they all clutch their hats tightly.

Alex has written them all short poems in neat cards, and she treasures hers as soon as she opens it, trying not to cry.

_ What is a mother? _

_ More than kind, _

_ Always loving, _

_ Mothers _

_ Are warmth and home. _

_ Memories and lessons to cherish. _

Alex still hesitates over calling her ‘Mama M’ occasionally, but his poem very clearly spells it out with the first letters, and the meaning couldn’t be more obvious. While John laughs over a clever innuendo in his and Gil stretches to read it, she pulls Alex into a tight hug.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she tells him simply.

“I love you too, Mama M,” he says.

John has drawn them each a picture- not of themselves, but scenes from around the house. There’s one for Gil of the moment he’d flicked flour at Alex and splattered George instead, Gil spluttering while George looks mock stern. Alex gets one of three curly heads draped together with one closely shorn one- the missing Hercules, she assumes- in a cuddle pile, John having recreated the scene from memory and managed to include himself. George and Martha get a joint one, a picture of George standing and holding out a hand, as a sleepy Alex gets up from where he’d been cuddled against Martha on the settee. Alex’s gaze is down, but he’s smiling serenely, looking comfortable and at peace. Both of the Washingtons’ attentions are focused entirely on him.

Martha hadn’t been aware John witnessed that moment, the day of the hot cocoa debacle when she’d eventually guided Alex back to the sitting room but he’d stayed close, almost clinging. He’d fallen asleep, worn out from the stress, and slipped to rest against her, and she’d continued to pet him as he slept even after the other boys got up and made noises about going to bed. Only when she’d begun to yawn had George woken Alex, ever so gently, and helped the sleepy, disoriented young man to bed.

George had her bring journals for the three young men when she came down, and they’re as delighted as he’d hoped they would be. Each also contains an inscription from him, just a few words of encouragement. Martha had added her own to Alex’s, as well- a very simple message. “You are loved. -Mama M”

With the presents opened, they settle into quiet conversation. Tomorrow, they’ll help serve supper and Christmas cookies to the men, and there will be music and a dance. But tonight is just for them, and it’s nice to be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you think! I love hearing from you all.


	18. Jefferson/Madison, Alex (D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts, like most things between them, with a fight.
> 
> Genre: Flirtation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another prompt that's all three of them +gift, and when I saw this one, my brain was like, "So Alex is the gift??" So that's what I wrote, lol!  
> This is an AU of the D/a verse for sure.

It starts, like most things between them, as a fight.

Like many of their fights, it’s Alexander’s smart mouth that kicks it off. “You’re not actually in France, anymore, you know?” he says, sneering at Thomas. He’d wandered into James’ study for some reason, interrupting Thomas’ attempt to catch a few minutes of privacy during the Madisons’ annual holiday party.

But he doesn’t ask Hamilton what the hell he’s doing in Madison’s study, or who he thinks he is, or even what the fuck he’s talking about. Because the light of the fire catches the warm reddish tones in Alexander’s hair, highlighting the way his cheeks are pink in the heat of the room, the decadent, bitter chocolate of his eyes, and suddenly the stubborn tilt of his jaw is beautiful, instead of just infuriating.

Just as suddenly, Thomas knows, vividly, exactly what he’s going to give James for Christmas. Something far better than the beautiful inkwell he’s picked out for his Dom’s office. Something truly unique.

“I liked Christmas in France,” Thomas remarks with a lazy smirk, lounging against James’ desk like a panther sunning itself before a meal.

“Well, around here we call tonight Christmas Eve, not Reveillon, and the closest we’ve got to a Yule Log is the stick permanently lodged up your ass,” Hamilton tells him, incensed, as always, by Jefferson’s casual amusement at his insults. It really is too easy to work him up into a froth.

And tonight, it’s going to be even more fun than usual.

“I don’t know, I had some interesting things up my ass in France. Lafayette is a creative lover.” He purrs it, his eyes filled with dangerous intention just barely masked by playful heat.

Hamilton gapes, his mouth dropping open in pure shock. Then he seems to get the idea, and he shakes off the startle, taking a sip of his drink to hide his expression for a moment before letting out a painfully fake chuckle. “Oh, I know. You’re only the second mouthiest sub that’s ever shared his bed.”

Gauntlet thrown and taken. Jefferson raises an eyebrow, impressed in spite of himself. “I’d wondered,” he says, fingers tracing the grain of the desk absently and reveling in the way Hamilton’s eyes follow the long digits, plainly without the other man’s permission, “I knew you’d known each other, and I didn’t see how anyone could resist Gil’s charms for long.”

Hamilton puffs up, clearly trying to regain control of this conversation. “I knew about you. Laf is a bit of an exhibitionist, he likes to write to me about his more, ahem, memorable conquests.” The emphasis was probably intended derogatorily- it comes off almost coquettish instead. Alexander’s eyelashes really are far too long for a man. It’s sinful.

“He liked telling his stories almost as much as I liked starring in them,” Thomas agrees. Alex swallows, and Jefferson rakes his eyes down the other man’s body, taking in the heated gaze, the tongue darting out to wet his lips, the posture that’s somehow so combative and yet so inviting- and the bulge Hamilton is doing a terrible job of hiding. “Someone’s having naughty thoughts,” he teases, pushing himself off the desk.

Alexander freezes, staying perfectly still as he approaches.

He takes the other man’s drink, first, taking a sip before putting it safely out of the way. Eggnog, not the much stronger punch. And Dolley was careful not to make it too strong, knowing how much people would be drinking. Hamilton hasn’t been here long- he definitely isn’t drunk. Which means Jefferson has no moral qualms about what he does next.

He circles Hamilton, not touching him but close enough for the other man to feel the heat of his body at his back. “You were talking about French Christmases earlier. Do you know about La Pere Fouettard?” he asks, whispering the question in Alexander’s ear over his shoulder.

Alex’s whole body shudders. He nods, slightly.

“Tell me what you know.” There are a lot of stories- which one Hamilton picks to share will tell him a lot about what the other man wants, here.

“If you’re naughty.” A pause that sounds distinctly like Alex licking his lips, and the word choice has to be deliberate. “He comes on Christmas Eve night and whips you.”

Thomas chuckles warmly, letting his breath caress Alexander’s neck but not touching him, just yet. “Very good.” A tiny, hungry noise from the smaller man- Thomas files that away for later use. “And as luck just happens to have it, it’s Christmas Eve, tonight. What do you think, Alexander? Have you been naughty?”

Hamilton takes a breath to reply, but before he can the door opens, admitting James, looking dashing in formal attire. His eyes darken as he takes them in.

The Dom quickly closes the door behind him, regarding the two subs hungrily. “Alex, I was going to apologize for keeping you waiting, but I can see you found something to keep you busy.”

Alex looks between them, a frisson of nervousness playing across his profile. He must know about them- Thomas will have to ask how later. Now, he’s only grateful to get to skip some of the explanations.

Still, Alexander appears genuinely worried he’s doing something he shouldn’t, here. Thomas touches him for the first time, a light hand on the small of his back, gentle reassurance, as he says, easily, “We were just talking about La Pere Fouettard.”

Madison smiles, predatory. Thomas loves him like this- a dangerous creature lying in wait, confident his prey is already caught. Perfectly in control of how the game plays out even if he never moves a piece himself. “Your favorite Christmas story. Tell me, boys, have you been naughty this year?” he asks teasingly.

“Alexander has been being ridiculously tempting.. And I almost opened your present without you,” he tells his Dom with affected boredom, raking his eyes over Alex’s body on ‘present’.

“Very interesting,” James says, considering this. “What do you think, Alex?”

Thomas shoots his Dom a quick, fond smile. Of course, James will want to hear it from Alex, that he wants this. The visible need in his body language won’t be enough.

“I think I got in the middle of something I’m not supposed to be involved in,” Alex says nervously, looking between them again. His gaze skitters away from Thomas’ heated one, but he looks genuinely concerned as he faces James. It’s sweet.

“No, Alex,” James tells him, tone sliding easily from flirtatious to reassuring, “You’re exactly where we want you, if you want to be. We didn’t plan any of this- it honestly never occurred to me as a possibility- but what Thomas said, about opening my present without me? He meant you. He knew I’d want this.”

“Will Dolley mind?” Alex checks, still unsure.

“She’s aware of Thomas and I’s relationship and occasional interest in adding a third to it, and okay with it. Will Eliza?” James asks, solicitous.

Alex shakes his head. “She… I’m not… I’m not a switch, I’m a sub. She’d like me to get involved with a Dom, at least occasionally. She says it’s good for me.”

That is interesting. And means that Thomas’ favorite potential scenario for tonight is probably doable, if James is in agreement. A quick look exchanged with his Dom, and Thomas is almost sure he is.

Indeed, James’ posture shifts minutely, taking on that firm, authoritative persona he falls into so naturally in the bedroom. The brilliant strategist he keeps tucked carefully behind the mild mannered Congressman in public.

“Thomas is a sub, too,” James offers. Alex’s eyes widen slightly- Thomas doesn’t blame him. He’s publicly a switch, just like Alex. And he’s very good at topping from the bottom, as it were. With casual partners, at least- James never lets him get away with it, though he does quite enjoy putting Thomas back in his place when he tries. They both enjoy it, actually.

“Do you know what one of my favorite things to do, with Thomas and another sub, is?” James asks Alex. The younger man shakes his head, obviously hanging on to every word. “Do you want to know?” James presses.

“Yes!” Alex looks startled at his own volume and intensity. “Please. Sir,” he adds. James smiles at the belated manners.

“Thomas, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is as fierce in the bedroom as he is in Cabinet. It’s one of my favorite things about him. All of that power and intelligence, completely at my mercy. You see, I like to watch him work, knowing he’ll submit completely to me at any moment if I ask him. I could have him on his knees in the middle of a Cabinet meeting, all I’d have to do is say the word,” James says. The casual way he discusses it, not bragging, just sure, is unbelievably hot. It’s Thomas’ turn to shiver.

Alexander turns, looking at him for confirmation. He nods, tilting his chin up proudly. He isn’t ashamed of his submission- the strength to lead and the strength to kneel are equal, in his eyes. And he knows James would never actually ask it of him in public- but sometimes, they both like to imagine.

“When you own a powerful creature, it’s a crime not to let it show its stuff every once in a while. You don’t bridle a racehorse to an apple cart,” James explains. Alex nods. “Well, sometimes, I like to sit back and watch what Thomas can do. The way he can drive a partner absolutely wild with his body, or that clever tongue- it’s not as sharp on skin as you’d imagine- and, when I feel like it, remind everyone who’s really in charge.”

Alex breathes in a shaky breath. Thomas resists the urge to touch him again, either to reassure him or push him over the edge. This has to be his choice, freely made. “You’d tell him what to do?” the sub checks.

“Sometimes. Not that he’s not plenty creative on his own, but there might be something I want to see. Or I might just want to remind you both who’s in control,” James agrees.

“And then you’d… join in?” Alex asks.

“Do you want me to?” James checks, infinitely reassuring. His tone makes it clear that he’ll be perfectly happy with either answer, just as long as Alex is honest about what he wants. Thomas has always thought it’s a neat trick. It helps, he supposes, when you’ve picked the game and therefore the options.

Hamilton licks his lips again, ducking his head for a moment before looking up and meeting James’ eyes. “Yes, please,” he says, sure and sweet. His forthright gaze isn’t a challenge, it’s an assurance- he understands, and he wants everything they’re offering.

James’ lips curl into a slow, pleased smile. “Then I suppose you’ll have to earn it,” he tells the sub.

Hamilton’s eyes glaze over a little at that pronouncement. Thomas may not be a Dom himself, but he thinks he’s got this particular sub’s number. And Dominant or not, Thomas likes beautiful men. And he really likes performing for his Dom. Time for a little teaser show, before the main event.

He breathes hotly in Alexander’s ear before asking, “Do you think you're up for it?”

“I’ll blow your mind,” Alex tells him, turning toward him, that ‘determined to prove himself’ glint obvious in his gaze.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jefferson scolds, stepping back. “I thought you were going to be good for us?”

It’s a gentle way of checking Alexander’s temperature, here, as well as confirming his own read on the man. And it plays out, when Alex immediately stills, dropping the hand that had been reaching toward Jefferson. “I will!” he says softly. “I can! I’ll do better.”

He feels the tension in the smaller man’s body, but Alex doesn’t look up, even to sneak a quick glance, as Thomas steps back within reach. “Good boy,” he says, using his forefinger to tilt Alex’s chin up so he can see him. “I think you’ll do very nicely, indeed.”

The praise steadies Alex, it’s obvious. Almost as much as it turns him on. Hamilton’s eyes darken, and Thomas knows he wants to surge forward for a kiss. But he holds himself in check, obedient. Waiting. “Yes,” Thomas purrs, “You’re going to be very fun to play with.” Then he kisses the smaller man lightly- the only two points of contact between them their lips and his finger on Alexander’s chin.

The younger man opens up beautifully for him, tilting toward him as he pulls back but catching himself and holding still. Thomas smiles approvingly.

“You two certainly make a pretty picture,” James tells them. Thomas quietly thrills at the possessiveness in his tone when he adds, “And you’re all mine tonight.”

Beside him, Alex blushes at the attention. It’s cute. James continues, “Now, there’s a difference in putting on a show for me and all of New York knowing what we’re up to, so here’s what we’re going to do. We are going back out there, and you two will spend forty five minutes mingling with the other guests. Thomas, you may say or do what you want to keep Alexander ready for you, so long as you are discrete. Neither of you will let anyone- excluding Eliza, who you may tell what you need to, Alex- know anything unusual is going on. After forty five minutes, assuming you both still want to do this, you will make your way upstairs to Thomas’ bedroom. It’s the second door on the right, Alexander. There, you will wait for me until I’m ready to join you. You may enjoy each other while you wait, but your bodies may only touch in ways they already have, in this room tonight.”

Thomas hisses in a breath. The limitation is tantalizing, but the opportunities that instruction leaves are heady. James’ knowing look makes it clear he’s thought through just what he’s allowing, here. The heat behind those self satisfied eyes makes it clear he’s looking forward to seeing what Thomas will do with the leeway.

“No one will be upset, if one of you decides not to go upstairs. You remain downstairs at the party, and we’ll never speak of this again. You go upstairs, and we have a night to remember,” James decides. “Any questions?”

They both shake their heads.

“Then the last thing we need to discuss is safewords, and any hard limits,” he says. “Thomas’ safeword is Monticello, and he and I know his limits and won’t let anything happen he doesn’t want. What about you, Alexander?” James asks kindly.

“Princeton,” he answers immediately. “And um, no scarring or real damage. You can hurt me- I like it, and my pain tolerance is high. No one besides us knows. And no fluids, aside from the obvious ones.” He says it clearly and confidently, but Thomas sees hesitation in the way he bites his lip.

“There’s something else,” he says immediately.

“Yes, Tom, I’d gathered. Let him finish,” James tells him sternly. Thomas falls silent.

“There’s not- I mean, that’s my usual list. Not that I’ve done anything like this in a long time, but…” Alexander trails off.

“There’s something else today, though,” James says, gentle and infinitely patient.

Alex looks at him nervously, deliberately avoiding Thomas’ gaze. “Humiliation,” he whispers, embarrassed. “Not… I don’t mind kneeling, and I’m not saying don’t correct me!” He backpedals as soon as he’s spoken.

Thomas is practically vibrating with the effort of staying quiet. When Alex doesn’t continue, James nods at him, allowing him to respond. “It wouldn’t be fun, or sexy. We’ve thrown too many barbs at each other intended to wound,” he acknowledges. “This isn’t about that. This is about pleasure, not politics, not policy, not work. We’re not two Cabinet Secretaries and a Congressman, tonight. We’re three men, enjoying ourselves.”

“Three extraordinary men, sharing an exquisite night,” James agrees.

Alex smiles, tentative but genuine. Thomas wants to taste it. Mindful of James’ instructions, he does, carefully not touching Alexander anywhere else. Alex leans into the kiss eagerly. His weight shifts back, but he doesn’t disengage, and Thomas follows him, nipping at that ridiculously full bottom lip before releasing him.

James is behind Alexander, holding his wrists at his sides. Thomas nearly embarrasses himself with the noise he wants to make at that realization.

“Only the ways you’ve already touched,” James reminds them, his voice a silky purr. “That means kissing, and Thomas can touch you with the one finger. Nothing else, for now. Can you be good if I let go?”

The hesitation before Alex nods goes straight to Thomas’ head. Apparently, he’s not the only one who’s already struggling with his control.

“Good boy.” James releases Alex, turns him, and gives him a kiss of his own. James, obviously, is under no restrictions about touching, and his hands skim lightly down Alex’s sides to grope his backside, tugging the sub closer. Alex whines against him. James kisses him for another long moment before releasing him.

“Check your watches,” James instructs, once a kiss-drunk Alex is standing under his own power again. They all three take out their pocket watches. “Forty five minutes. Alex, please go rejoin the party. Remember, tell Eliza what she needs to know- including whether you plan to spend the night.”

Thomas checks his watch, then turns hungrily to his Dom, once Alex is gone.

James kisses him, tender but still powerful, as soon as they’re alone. “You really are magnificent.”

Thomas smiles, leaning into him. “You like your present?” he teases, coy.

“I can’t wait to unwrap him. Or make you unwrap him for me, as the case may be,” James says, humming appreciatively. “I can’t believe you seduced Alexander Hamilton, in my study! He was speechless. What the hell did you do to him before I came in here?” James asks, impressed.

His Dom’s approval shoots through Thomas, making his blood thrum even hotter than it was already. “I hadn’t even touched him. What can I say? I’ve got a gift.”

“You do.” James kisses him again, long and slow and heady, and when Thomas is a puddle in his arms, he pulls back. “Now, I believe I told you to mingle.”

Thomas almost whines at the loss, but doesn’t let himself protest. He knows his Dom- James absolutely isn’t going to give in. He knows something else about James, though.

Whatever he’s got planned is also absolutely going to be worth it. Thomas can hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	19. Alex & Eliza, Carriage + Washington & Alex, Silent Night (D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is still Eliza's husband, after all.
> 
> He's also Washington's son, even if he can't say it out loud.
> 
> Genre: Hurt/comfort, father/son, eventual fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I counted and I had too many prompts. I wrote a REALLY long double fic today to use two of them! Hope it's worth it. There's a healthy dose of father/son angst and working things out, then a Christmas party and eventually a carriage ride, and plenty of snuggles.

It’s not often that they get to spend much time just the two of them, anymore, between raising Philip and her relationship with Maria. Eliza is grateful for the opportunity the holiday season, with all of the appearances at parties that are expected of a man of Alex’s station, provides.

Alex is, as he reminds her frequently, still her husband. Except where many men would use that reminder as a demand- “So do this for me,” or “I’m entitled to that,” Alex uses it very differently.

“I am still your husband,” he laughs, when he brings her home roses when he returns from a day she knows has been full of grueling meetings, looking happier the moment he sets eyes on their little family, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Well, I’m still your husband, after all,” he tells her when she wakes up to a chilled room and discovers he’s already there, in the middle of the night, relighting the fire in she and Maria’s bedroom. “The one in my room was out and the cold woke me. I knew that meant yours probably was, too.” That day, Maria had woken up as well and coaxed him to join them in bed for a cuddle- he’s moved to a spare room, but Alex needs companionship and she needs Alex, and sometimes they all sleep together platonically.

She scolded him a few days ago over the pile of gifts growing under the Christmas tree, and he’d sniffed, mock haughty. “As the man of the house, and your husband, as well as Philip’s father, it is my right to spoil the three of you as I see fit!” Alex’s highbrow impression of the ‘Lord of the Manor’ type had sent her into hysterical fits of laughter, and she’d been crying with it when Philip came in to investigate the noises and joined her in tickling his father into dropping the act.

So she’s tried a trick of her own, today. Paying him back for his insistence that he’s still entitled to take care of her, even if their relationship has mostly moved beyond the romantic. Alex came home yesterday harried and guilty looking, rushing in as they sat down for dinner.

“Hello, I’m sorry I’m late, I know you probably gave up on me, can I join you?” he asked nervously, the words coming out in a rush.

She’d fed Philip hours before and already sent him to bed, but she and Maria had waited, hoping to eat with Alex. They’ve only just given up, well after dark.

“We tried to wait for you,” Maria assures him, getting up to retrieve the third place setting she’d cleared to the sideboard.

Alex clearly reads the words as censure, though, and flinches. “I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s rude of me to be so late and then expect you to include me,” he apologizes. “It’s rude of me to keep the hours I do anyway, never thinking of you all with my schedule.”

He looks distraught. Something is wrong, Eliza is sure. She stands, going to her husband and taking his hand. “Alex, Maria’s not upset with you and neither am I. We waited until we got tired, then decided to eat so we’d hopefully have enough energy to stay awake until you got home. You didn’t mention you’d be late today, and we were concerned.”

Alex looks at her guiltily. “I didn’t know I was going to be late, I swear! And I didn’t just get caught up. The General and I were having an impromptu meeting,” he confesses.

That neatly explains why he’s so frantic. He’s been in trouble with Washington, clearly. Alex hates having his surrogate father put out with him. Eliza wants to take a moment to calm him down, but Maria doesn’t feel totally comfortable hearing about Alex and Washington’s fights, sometimes. She hesitates, feeling caught between her loves.

“I’m going to go warm some food for Alex, and ours will undoubtedly need some help staying warm while I do. It’ll take me a few minutes, why don’t you two go have a glass of wine?” Maria suggests.

Alex looks at Maria then at her, clearly leaving the decision to Eliza. “That’s a wonderful idea, thank you love,” she says, stepping away from Alex long enough to kiss her partner in thanks. Maria squeezes her hand and goes into the kitchen, and Eliza turns back to her husband.

“Now, let’s have that glass of wine,” she says, linking their arms and leading him into the sitting room. She settles on the sofa, pulling him down to lean against her when he brings her a glass. “Now, tell me what’s happened with George, please. It’s unlike him to send you home still so out of sorts,” she says. Usually, when Alex gets into trouble with his surrogate father, Washington makes sure he knows he’s forgiven and feels better before he sends him home. Today, she’s more than a little afraid her husband is dropping.

“You’re going to be upset with me, too,” he says quietly.

Eliza kisses the side of his brow. “And I’ll still love you, just like your father does. Now tell me, please.”

“We have to go to Adams’ party tomorrow,” he says first, staring into his glass as he speaks.

Eliza winces. She had not planned on getting dressed up and attending an event tomorrow night, though she’d wondered at that particular exclusion from their busy holiday calendar. “We can do that, Alex, that’s fine.”

“No it isn’t!” Alex insists, jumping to his feet. “It’s not fine that I’m taking you away from Maria for the evening with no warning, or that she’ll wind up watching Philip for us. It’s not fair that you have _no notice_ and I still expect you to put me first! It’s not fair that you’re always catering to my nonsense!”

“And it’s not fair that George is making you go?” she asks softly, catching the switch from ‘fine’ to ‘fair’.

“He doesn’t even care that I don’t want to,” Alex confesses, slumping to lean against the sideboard.

“Did you tell him why?” Eliza asks gently, sitting up to see him better. She loves her husband, but he’ll say a thousand words about nothing to avoid five about something that’s bothering him. He does it to Washington just as much as he does it to her.

And Alex has good reasons for hating John Adams, who hisses filth at him about ‘dirty halfbreeds’ and calls him ‘the whore’s son’ as often as he does ‘the Treasury Secretary’. That’s not nearly as problematic as the rest of what Adams mutters about, though- about switches who should know their place. There have even been veiled references to how, exactly, Alex might have earned his job.

Washington would absolutely put a stop to it if he knew about it. But Alex refuses to tell his surrogate father, and Adams may be a bastard but he’s not an idiot. He knows better than to torment Alex in front of his allies, so Washington remains in the dark about his Vice President’s treatment of his right hand man.

Alex looks teary. “Almost. I was at the point where I was ready to say something, but by then I’d been so obnoxious he didn’t care.”

Eliza reaches out to squeeze his hand. “He may have been annoyed with you, but do you honestly believe the General wouldn’t care if you told him what’s been going on?”

Alex sniffs, looking wounded. “He told me I’d been selfish enough, and if I wouldn’t listen to reason and put aside my pettiness for the sake of our working relationships and what we’re building, or because he needed me and was asking me to, then I was damn well going to follow orders and I’d better be there. Then he sent me home.”

Washington rarely loses his temper with Alex. That, combined with the late hour, makes Eliza suspect there’s more to the story. She pats the seat beside her. “Come sit down and tell me exactly what happened,” she says.

Alex comes. He sits miserably upright, so she coaxes him down to lean into her shoulder. She hates to see him looking so alone. “Tell me,” she prompts again.

“I told Adams days ago I wasn’t coming to his stupid party. But of course, he couldn’t leave it at that,” Alex moans. “He went to Washington sometime today complaining I never responded to the invitation and I was being rude, because Abigail can’t plan a party not knowing who’s coming. The General said something when I stuck my head in to say goodbye, today.”

So this fight began at the end of a long day, when they were both already tired. And was orchestrated by Adams, trying to sow discord. No wonder it went badly. “Said something?” she asks.

“He told me to come in, he needed to talk to me. Then he scolded me about how rude it is not to respond to an invitation, and how I should be more respectful of the Vice President. I kind of interrupted him there, and went off about how Adams doesn’t deserve my respect. That was the first time he sent me to the corner tonight.” The subtle emphasis on first worries Eliza- she can tell her husband has had a hard day.

Eliza pets his hair. “Oh, sweetheart. That sounds awful,” she says.

“And when he asked me if I was ready to come out and be polite, I, um, told him I’d rather spend the rest of my life in the damn corner of his office,” Alex admits, shamefaced. “I might’ve just had it out with Thomas when I came in, I was already worked up.”

And of course Washington was punishing the tantrum, and likely read Alex’s refusal as disrespect of _him,_ not of Adams. “Oh, no,” she says. Especially if her husband got so worked up he cursed at his father, that won’t have gone over well.

“Yeah, and he took me up on it, for a while,” Alex says. He’s not resentful, just upset. “Eventually, though, he called me back out. To tell me he’d assured Adams I’d be there.”

Alex looks down, reaching over to play with Eliza’s sleeve and avoid her eyes as he continues. “I, um, didn’t handle it well.” Eliza nods, encouraging him to continue. “I told him that was his mistake, not checking with me, but I wouldn’t be going. We argued for… for a long time. About all of the reasons I should go, and how I wasn’t going to. Adams convinced him it’d look bad not to have the whole Cabinet there, and I got a lecture about how I divide the government fighting with Jefferson. I started to feel like he was just trying to force me into the ‘perfect little submissive’ role, I _know_ he wasn’t, he had real, valid reasons, but it felt like nothing I said about not wanting to go mattered, and I couldn’t bear to explain why I really didn’t want to, when he wasn’t _listening_ to me,” Alex admits.

“That’s hard, feeling like you don’t have a voice,” Eliza acknowledges. It’s one of Alex’s biggest fears, that people won’t hear him when he has something to say.

Alex, relieved to be understood at last, turns and buries his face in her collarbone. “I was so awful, though, why would he listen to me?” he laments. “I wasn’t listening to him, either. Why would he even bother with me, when I don’t listen?”

“You’ve yelled at him before. You may be in trouble, but you know your father always forgives you,” Eliza assures him. In a weird loophole in Alex’s paternal figure issues, he can’t ever bring himself to call Washington his dad, and his tolerance for being called ‘son’ veers wildly from wanting the term of affection desperately to scratching and hissing when he hears it. But Martha and Eliza can name it, when they’re reassuring him, and it helps. He can’t acknowledge the bond himself, but somehow he’s steadied by hearing them do it. He needs that reassurance now.

“I threw an inkwell at him,” Alex confesses. Eliza gasps before she can stop herself. “I didn’t hit him- I had the presence of mind for that, at least. But I threw it in his direction.”

“What did he do about _that?”_ Eliza asks nervously. Washington is infinitely patient and forgiving with Alex, but he can be stern when the situation calls for it, and Alex definitely earned it this time.

Alex shifts awkwardly. “We should probably skip Sunday dinner,” he says.

Eliza raises an eyebrow. They have Sunday dinner, she and Alex and Philip, with the Washingtons and Martha’s two grandchildren they’re raising every week. Whatever group of them is in New York has done it every Sunday since the Washingtons moved North. Nothing that’s gone on at work has ever been so bad Alex has suggested interrupting that tradition before.

“I don’t think Martha would allow it,” Eliza tells him carefully.

“Mama M is _who I’m avoiding,”_ he confesses. “All the General did was send me back to the corner, after… That’s not- I deserve- She’s going to be so disappointed in me. And he’s so angry…” Alex loses his battle with tears.

“He put you back in the corner?” Eliza asks.

“Not put.” She feels Alex’s head shake against her. “He didn’t touch me at all, not once, not after I-” Alex can’t seem to repeat what he did. “He told me I was done talking and I was damn well going to listen. He said I was being selfish, and prideful, and disrespectful, and it was going to stop, and I could go stand in the corner until I was ready to apologize. I wanted to tell him how sorry I am, Betsy, I did, but he was right, I’d done enough talking. I didn’t know what to do, so I went. I don’t know how long I was there. It felt like hours. He reminded me a few times I could come out when I was ready to apologize, but I couldn’t find the words. None of them seemed big enough, and I didn’t want to make things worse. Eventually I was just so angry at myself, for not being able to fix things. I kicked the wall and he scolded me again about tantrums, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying,” he confides miserably.

Alex feels everything deeply, and he’s freer with those emotions than most men she’s known. The good and the bad. It’s frankly shocking that he went so far as to throw something at Washington in his anger, but it’s much less surprising he cried over having Washington upset with him. She asks, gently, “Did he notice?”

Alex nods. “He called me out of the corner. He said making this a battle of wills wasn’t his goal, and if I was too upset to make good choices on my own, he hoped I would remember he has my best interests at heart because he was making it an order. He told me I was going to apologize for the tantrum, then I was going to write the Adams’ a note apologizing for my failure to respond to their invitation. And that we _would_ be going tomorrow, we’d be staying at least an hour, and I’d be on my best behavior.”

Eliza is glad Washington ended the standoff- it sounds like Alex was far beyond being capable of doing so. Especially since he’s still so upset about it having happened to begin with. She strokes his hair back from his forehead. “That’s not so bad. We can do an hour. I’ll be with you the whole time, and we’ll avoid Adams,” she promises.

Alex winds his arms around her. “Except I, um, kind of lost it about apologizing to Adams. I told him there was no way in hell that fat bastard was getting an apology for me, and he could go fuck himself.”

Eliza gasps. Alex pushes himself up to look at her, still crying. “He said to go home. Just that. ‘Go home, Alexander’. I didn’t even apologize to him first, I just got so angry- Adams engineered all of this to see me grovel, and I know I made it worse over and over, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction, I can’t. But I couldn’t leave things like that, either. I felt like he was taking Adams’ side, Bets, and I _needed_ him on my side. I needed him to listen to me. I just… pride and handling Adams on my own didn’t matter, anymore. I was going to tell him. But I tried, I started, and he said that whatever anyone else had done, my behavior was unacceptable tonight and I needed to do as I was told for once and go.”

She tugs Alex back down into her arms and hugs him. “He’s sent you home before. You’ll both calm down, you’ll work things out, and it’ll be okay,” she assures him.

“What if Adams convinces him I really am more trouble than I’m worth?” Alex asks.

“You know George better than that. Your father loves you. That’s got nothing to do with how useful you are,” Eliza tells him.

“Will he even believe me if I apologize, now? There were so many times I should’ve, tonight, and I didn’t. I messed it all up,” he confesses.

“He’ll understand. You two will talk through things and he’ll understand,” Eliza tells him again. Alex makes a noncommittal noise but burrows further into her hug.

Maria joins them a few minutes later. They have soup cooking, because they’ve been having it for lunches as a nice bit of warmth on cold days and it gets better the longer it sits, and she’s brought three mugs in. She clearly figured out when they didn’t return that something was very wrong with Alex, and Eliza is grateful to her partner for knowing how to take care of them.

Maria settles against Alex’s other side, coaxing him to drink his soup. They all finish their food cuddled together on the settee, and when Eliza feels Alex getting heavy against her and sees Maria’s eyes begin to droop, she helps them set their mugs aside and coaxes them both upstairs to bed. They all head for Eliza and Maria’s room, Alex tentative but needing the affection they offer, and she gently guides him to get ready for bed and puts him matter of factly in the middle, so she and Maria can curl around him and protect him from the misery of the day.

Tomorrow, she’ll worry about helping Alex and George make up, and get ready for the party. She’ll tell Maria they’ll be out all evening and work on deciding what she’s going to wear. But for today, she’s going to focus on taking care of her husband.

***

The next morning, Eliza is preparing the baby blue silk she intends to wear to the Adams’ party when a servant brings her a card from Martha Washington, requesting that she join the other woman for a walk.

Martha’s outside, bundled up and looking worried. “You could’ve come in,” Eliza tells her.

“I didn’t want Alex to see me. I think they need to sort this one out on their own,” Martha explains. “Sometimes, Mama needs to step in and fix things. But Alex doesn’t do well, fighting with his father. He needs to know he and George can work things out, without me.”

“What did you need?” Eliza asks.

“George was in Dom Drop badly when he got home. How is Alexander?” Martha asks.

“Better. He came home frantic we’d be upset with him too, because he was so late. I got him to sit with me and tell me what was wrong, and we cuddled. Maria and I are being very gentle with him. She’s helping him make a whiskey cake, right now,” Eliza says. “I think he’s hoping if he brings dessert Sunday and looks suitably contrite, George won’t turn him away at the door. I didn’t ask how he got your recipe.”

Martha shakes her head, looking sad. “I taught him to make it for George’s birthday one year. Do you think he’s ready to see George? I got the feeling from George’s story there was more going on than he knew, and I didn’t want to suggest he come over if Alex was angry.”

Eliza frowns. “The more going on is that John Adams is an _asshole,_ and the whole fight was built on a lie he concocted to get Alex in trouble.”

“Oh, dear,” Martha says. “That complicates things.”

“Alex didn’t just not respond. He declined to attend. Adams went to Washington to strong arm him,” Eliza explains. “I’ll get him there, and get him through it. But even before Adams orchestrated this fight, Alex had very good reasons for wanting to stay far away from him.”

Martha taps her chin. “I may suggest to George that sometimes, the things he thinks are absolutely necessary might not be. I don’t think he’s honestly expecting Alex to be there, tonight, after all of this.”

“He made it an order, and Alex fully intends to obey. But he’d do better if his father acknowledged _why_ he’s doing it, and that it is a big ask,” Eliza says.

“I’m going to suggest he come over and talk to Alex. It sounds like they’re both ready to make up,” Martha says. “I had to stop George coming over here last night, after he’d told me about their fight. I pointed out that he was dropping and he panicked about _Alex_ potentially dropping.”

“I think he probably was,” Eliza admits, “But he’s in better shape today. He knows he was in the wrong, with how he handled things. And he’s willing to do what George told him, to a point. Adams isn’t getting an apology. But he’d like to apologize to George. For the throwing things _and_ the attitude.”

“Throwing things?” Martha asks.

“He lobbed an inkwell _near_ his father at one point, then spiraled into guilt over it for the rest of the night,” Eliza explains.

Martha frowns. “I’m tempted to go in there and give him a good spanking, throwing things at his father! Honestly. Since George won’t do it,” she sighs.

“He might feel better if you did. He knows the time out he got wasn’t a severe enough punishment, and I think that’s part of the problem. He feels guilty.” Eliza glances back at the house, where Alex is busily working on his apology cake.

Martha sighs. “I said I wasn’t going to interfere. I _will_ remind George that young men do better with firm boundaries, and ways to earn forgiveness.” She shakes her head. “And to that end, I’m going to send George in.”

“In? Not over?” she asks.

“No, he’s in the carriage. I told him I had to run some errands,” she says with a laugh.

“And he fell for that?” Eliza says, chuckling.

“Until we got here. He knows _exactly_ what I’m up to, by now. But I think he’s too grateful to be annoyed with me,” she admits, hugging Eliza and returning to the carriage. Eliza waits on the sidewalk until the General emerges.

“Into the lion’s den?” she says, by way of greeting. Washington looks terrible- she knows, having witnessed Angelica going through it, that Dom Drop isn’t any easier than sub drop. But it’s shocking to see the General so visibly out of sorts.

Washington raises an eyebrow. “How is he?” he asks. Eliza assumes Martha filled him in, but apparently he wants to hear it from her. She tells him as they walk back through the gates and up to the front door.

“He came home a mess, but he’s better today. I was surprised you sent him home in that state,” she admits.

“Every attempt I made at getting the situation back under control pushed him into a bigger tantrum. I decided we both needed to cool down,” Washington admits. “I knew you’d take good care of him, if I sent him home. Then I worried about him all night.”

“Well, he’s baking with Maria, now. I’ll send him out,” she says, leaving Washington standing in the foyer as she goes to get her husband.

“Alexander, you have a visitor,” she says simply.

“Go, it needs to cool,” Maria assures him, gesturing to the cake they’ve just taken out. Philip is helping, too, and he skids ahead of his father, wanting to see who’s come to visit.

“Grandpa!” Philip cries when he gets to the foyer, throwing his arms around the older man’s waist. Washington’s eyes are locked on Alex, though, as are Eliza’s. Which means she sees the way he immediately drops his head, his whole body going stiff when he sees his mentor.

Eliza quickly holds out a hand for Philip. “Honey, Daddy and Grandpa need to talk, okay? Why don’t we go play in the snow in the garden?” she suggests.

***

As soon as they’re alone, Alex speaks, a whispered, “I’m so sorry,” George almost doesn’t catch. His son’s voice shakes with the words, and George regrets again letting things spin so wildly out of control last night.

“Let’s go to your office and talk,” George suggests, holding a hand out to gesture Alex to precede him. He’d like to wrap an arm around the boy, but Alex looks ready to shatter, and they’d both prefer he did that somewhere truly private.

Martha had assured him the boy was guilty and upset but functionally okay, and that does seem to be the case. It doesn’t make George feel any better, though- he has no idea what led Alex to act out so badly last night, but he knows he failed his son by not getting a better handle on it.

Once they’re alone in Alex’s office, George closes the door and turns to face his surrogate son. Alex’s shoulders are hunched, and he looks _small,_ in a way he rarely does anymore. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“Alex.” Usually, George holds out his arms and makes accepting the hug Alex’s choice, given how skittish he can be. But his son won’t even look at him today, and George thinks Alex needs a hug as much as he does. He crosses the room and takes the boy into his arms.

Alex _clings,_ immediately. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he repeats, the words he couldn’t bring himself to say yesterday spilling forth now.

George strokes his hair. “Take a breath. You’re okay. Calm down for me, now, then we’ll talk about what went wrong.”

“I didn’t do it!” Alex insists suddenly. Then he backpedals. “I mean, I know I was bad, I’m sorry, I should never have spoken to you like that or-” Alex can’t bring himself to say it. “The rest of it, you know. I’m sorry.”

This is concerning. George tugs Alex gently to sit with him on the office settee, keeping the young man wrapped in his arms for the time being. “What do you mean, you didn’t do it?” he asks questioningly.

Alex sniffles against his shoulder. “I told him I wasn’t coming days ago. I didn’t just not respond,” he admits.

“John said he hadn’t heard from you,” George says, surprised.

Alex huffs. “So he lied. Shocking.”

“Did you maybe leave the card somewhere he might not have seen it?” George asks.

Alex pulls away, standing to walk across the room. “I _told_ him. In person. He knew. This is why I couldn’t tell you- you aren’t _listening_ to me. You never listen to me when it comes to him.”

Alex is glaring out the window, now. George takes a moment to consider his response. In the end, though, he knows what the right thing to say is. “I’m sorry. It never occurred to me- even when you said it just now- that John would lie to me. I’ve worked with him for a long time.”

“Whereas obviously I’m unreliable,” Alex snarks.

“Son.” The word hangs heavily, a warning about the attitude. Alex tenses but doesn’t back down. “I didn’t say you were unreliable, or that I don’t believe you. I’ve never known you to lie to me, and I trust that you wouldn’t start now. I _apologized_ for taking him at his word, and not giving you a chance to explain.”

Alex flinches minutely. George can’t read his expression, the way he’s silhouetted in the window. “Doesn’t really matter now, though, does it?” Alex says bitterly. “He won. I’m going to his stupid party, and we-” Alex doesn’t finish the thought. He’s skittering away from discussing the worst moments of the night.

George is surprised. Given the way they’d left things, he’d assumed Alex had no intention of going to the party. Especially if he’d already followed decorum and declined. “I do think you should be there,” George says. “Whether John lied or not, the points I made yesterday about your presence stand. We need a united front, and-”

Alex cuts him off. “I’ll go,” he says, sounding desperate. “I said I’d go. Eliza’s figured out our outfits. Please don’t…” Alex trails off, takes a deep breath, and tries again. “I know you have plenty of reasons to be disappointed in me, yesterday and in general. And sir, I know I… I don’t expect to get away with how I behaved yesterday. But can we _please_ not go through all of my failings again?” he begs. He’s still across the room, and he still won’t look at Washington.

“Son,” George says, stepping forward. Then he falters, not sure what part of that to address first. “Come here, please,” he says softly.

Alex looks incredibly reluctant, but he does come to stand in front of his father. George places his hands on the boy’s shoulders, encouraging him to meet his eyes. Alex does, hesitantly. “You absolutely shouldn’t have behaved the way you did yesterday, and now that we’re both calm we’ll address it.” Alex bites his lip and nods at the warning. But that’s not the main thing George wants to say. “But Alex, I made assumptions, and I blamed you, and I didn’t hear what you were trying to tell me, because you were upset as you said it. I’m sorry for that, son. I tell you I’ll always love you and be here for you, but part of that is me listening when something’s wrong. Even if I’m tired or it’s inconvenient. I wasn’t who you needed me to be last night, Alex, and I’m sorry.”

There are tears in Alex’s eyes as he throws himself into the General’s arms, hugging him hard. George relaxes for the first time since last night, hugging back just as tightly. It had been awful, sending Alex home in that state and not knowing if he would be okay. Knowing the boy often let his insecurities make bad situations worse, and that it was entirely possible Alex would consider last night too big of a fight to come back from. He worried during the war that he’d lost Alex, when he sent him home after the duel with Lee. He’d worried the same thing, last night.

He’d wanted to go over, to check on Alex, make sure he was alright, maybe apologize. Martha had convinced him they both needed time to cool down and regain perspective, but a fight like that followed by not knowing if his son was okay was a ‘silent night’ directly opposite the song- there’d been no peace and little sleep.

Now, he holds his boy close, squeezing Alex to him and wrapping a hand around the back of his head to hug him. He kisses the top of Alex’s head, relieved and grateful for the chance to fix things. Alex clings, and George feels terrible at how clearly insecure last night has left Alex feeling.

“Thank you,” Alex says finally, softly. “I never expected you to actually listen to me.”

“You should be able to count on that, son,” George tells him. “Professionally, we both have to make nice with Adams. I didn’t hire him and even if he’s sowing discord in the Cabinet, I can’t fire him. But personally, there isn’t a person in our government who deserves my trust and loyalty like you do, son, and you’ve always got it. There’s nothing you can’t bring to me,” he insists.

“What if I want to try to do it without you?” Alex asks. “If… If I want to know I can fight my own battles?”

“Then you do it, knowing I’m right there if you need me,” George says. “And you can tell me, and trust that I’ll stay out of it, if you need me to know but don’t want me to interfere,” he adds.

“Adams… is not a big fan of switches- thank God he doesn’t know I’m a sub. Or Islanders, or bastard orphans,” Alex admits. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, But the Adams you see, and the Adams people he considers beneath him see, are not the same man.”

“Noted,” Washington says. He considers it seriously. “And Alex? I might know what’s going on,” he realizes.

“What?” Alex asks immediately.

“There’s a rumor circulating that you’re going to run, in the next election,” Washington says. “I’ve even heard that’s why you fight with Jefferson- to make a name for yourself and harm any potential opposition. Adams fully intends to run again, you know.”

Alex laughs, shocked. “I don’t want to be Vice President. And nobody is unseating you. Even if I _were_ interested in running, and I don’t know that I’d ever want to, honestly, I wouldn’t run against you. I’d rather work by your side than oppose you, even if it got me a fancier title,” he says.

“I’m glad to hear it. Not that I want you to squash your ambitions for my sake, son, but because I’d hope you would want to tell me about a decision that big,” he says. Alex leans back far enough to see him more easily, but stays in the loose circle of George’s arms. George is happy to hold his son a while longer. “And while nobody seriously thinks I’m not going to win a second term, there are stirrings about who is going to run for Vice President. Adams wants to make sure he wins, but of you and Thomas and your factions, he comes down ideologically on your side,” he explains.

“Which means me skipping his Christmas party would be an act of political sabotage, whether I realized it or not,” Alex says. “That makes me want to do it more,” he admits.

“Knowing there’s more going on than I was previously aware of between the two of you, I won’t insist that you go, whatever I said last night,” Washington tells him.

“But ideologically, I’d rather he win the Vice Presidency than somebody Jefferson puts up to running, _and_ a clear, public divide between me and Adams would only weaken my stances, politically.” Alex looks annoyed. “I’m going to have to play nice with him, aren’t I?” he asks.

“It’ll make your life easier,” Washington acknowledges. “But remember, you’ve got me on your side if he does anything horrible. And he needs you, even if you’re only just realizing it. It might be worth letting him know that you’ve worked that out.”

Alex smiles devilishly. “Yeah, I can do enough to secure the party without rolling over for him. And I won’t let him manipulate me into being at odds with _you_ because I’m afraid to tell you what’s going on again,” he decides, his expression falling as he says it. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better. I chose not to tell you, then I got mad that you didn’t know.”

“We’ll deal with it and put it behind us,” Washington assures him.

Alex steps back, then. Being held tends to make him feel caged, not reassured, when he’s in trouble. Washington releases him without complaint, immediately turning his mind to what to do with his surrogate son. He doesn’t use corporal punishment on the boy, but he thinks time spent in the corner isn’t going to help Alex let go of his guilt, under the circumstances. If that were going to be enough, he’d consider the matter closed after last night. That Alex clearly can’t let go of the mistake makes it obvious he needs something more active to help him feel he’s earned forgiveness.

Normally, George would focus on apologies and lessons learned. But Alex has apologized to him, sincerely, and he doesn’t want to belabor that point and make Alex feel like forgiveness might not be certain. And he’s certainly not making Alex follow through on the apology he’d told him to give Adams, given that he hadn’t even failed to answer the invitation in the first place. But throwing things and tantrums do still need to be addressed.

He puts his hands in his pockets as he processes, and feels the inkwell. He’d picked it up last night, absently putting it into his pocket instead of back on the desk after Alex left. It was an inadvertent action, given how upset he was, but it does give him an idea.

There is naturally an ink well on Alex’s desk, as well. The stoppered glass containers aren’t huge, or particularly heavy, but he thinks he can use them for a lesson that stays in line with their usual punishments, while giving Alex an extra edge of discomfort and challenge to help him feel like he’s earned forgiveness.

He’s had Alex kneel in uncooked rice before, when he needed a punishment with a bit more of an edge. But Alex has become more and more adamantly in denial about his submission since they assumed their posts in the new government, and kneeling might be a bit too charged with reminders of his orientation today.

Holding his arms out and balancing the inkwells for a while, instead of spending the time in the corner, will force Alex to focus on the punishment, and the items themselves will be an object lesson. Plus, doing it for very long will leave him sore and feeling like he’s accomplished something, George hopes. Maybe it’ll help even out any lingering effects of subdrop, too.

Plan in mind, he looks at Alex. Washington hasn’t been silent for long, but the boy has clearly wound himself up in the short time. As soon as his surrogate father looks at him, Alex speaks. “There’s never an excuse for the way I treated you, sir. I was horrible. And I wanted to apologize last night, but I couldn’t make myself speak, and I kept making things worse instead. My behavior was rude and inexcusable and you’ve frankly taught me better. I know I should never treat anyone like that, but you especially deserve better from me.”

If George hadn’t been sure he needed to punish his surrogate son, Alex’s little speech would’ve convinced him. Now, he grips the inkwell, pulling it out of his pocket. “I picked this up absently tidying up yesterday after you left. But I’m glad I have it, now,” he says. “Arms out at your sides, please.”

Alex lifts his arms immediately, making a perfect T shape of his body. Washington puts the inkwell on one hand, which drops slightly for an instant before regaining its place. He takes the inkwell from Alex’s desk and sets it on his other hand, which holds steady. “Good,” he praises.

“Now, I want you to keep those balanced until I tell you you can lower your arms,” George tells him. Alex nods, making the inkwells shake. His eyes widen. “Yes, you’re going to have to be very still. Holding your arms out like that will get tiring after a while, but I’m sure you can do it. And while you do, I want you to think about the self discipline it takes to do this, and how much trouble you could’ve saved, if you’d used a little of that self discipline yesterday and had a conversation with me instead of giving in to your frustration when we talked.”

Alex’s throat moves as he swallows heavily. The rest of him stays absolutely still. “Yes, sir,” he breathes.

Washington sits down in the armchair, careful to stay in Alex’s easy line of sight, and watches him. The boy holds the position with relative ease for a little while, but after a few moments the strain becomes obvious. Alex bites his lip as he struggles to cope. Washington sees blood well up from the abused skin.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he says gently. “I don’t want to see you hurting yourself to deal with difficult things. Focus on your goal instead,” he instructs.

Alex nods, and the inkwell on his left hand bobs. He turns his head at the movement, and it’s the one on his right hand that slips. “No!” Alex yelps. Washington reaches forward, catching it.

“Stay in position,” he says, replacing the ink well. “We aren’t done yet. Stay focused, don’t let yourself lose track of what your hands are doing.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex looks near tears, upset by the error.

“You’re doing very well, Alex. Don’t let one mistake make you lose sight of that,” Washington tells him. He means far more than just balancing the inkwells.

This time, Alex answers verbally, not moving his head. “Yes, sir,” he says tightly, but he does look reassured.

Washington doesn’t have a time in mind- he rarely does, punishing Alex. Instead, he watches the boy- though it’s really not fair to call him a boy anymore, in body or in mind. Alex has grown up a lot over the years. Today, he keeps an iron control over himself, staying in position even when George can see the strain. He waits until Alex’s expression smooths out, frustration with his difficulty with the task giving way to simply focus on completing it as the minutes drag on, before he stands up.

George removes the inkwells from the backs of his son’s hands. Alex doesn’t move. “You can lower your arms,” he says gently.

Alex gasps as he does. Washington steps forward immediately, his hands going to Alex’s upper arms to massage the tense muscles. Alex shudders against him. “I know, son, I know. You’ll feel better in a minute,” Washington assures him, digging his thumbs in to help his son relax his quivering arms.

Alex pulls his arms into his chest as they relax. Washington leaves off the firm massage and just pulls him into a hug. Alex sinks into him, relieved. “You’re forgiven, son. It’s all over,” Washington assures him.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t believe I _threw_ it at you,” Alex says quietly. “I lost control.”

“Well, you just proved you can keep yourself under control, when you really try. Alex, you did so well. I’m proud of you,” Washington tells him. Alex smiles, pleased. He looks at ease, now, as opposed to the tight ball of stress he’d been earlier. Washington is relieved. His mishandling of things last night had put both of them in a bad place, but he can breathe easier knowing Alex is feeling better.

The boy still clings a bit, and when they eventually leave Alex’s office they find Martha in the sitting room playing with Philip. They stay for lunch, then the Washingtons go home to get ready for Adams’ party.

***

Eliza is relieved to see how much better Alex looks when he comes out of his office with his father, and how close he and George stay to each other throughout lunch. Washington is eagle eyed and solicitous, swooping in when Alex is moving stiffly.

The reason becomes clear when they talk after the Washingtons leave. Maria takes Philip to play downstairs while Eliza and Alex go up to get ready, and he fills her in on his conversation with his father.

Eliza is pleased, though not nearly as surprised as Alex is, that George apologized. She’s also concerned about what Alex has learned about Adams.

“You know what?” she says, when her husband finishes his story, “It sounds like he needs you, and has very little power over you. I say you make _him_ grovel.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asks, intrigued, as he helps her tighten her corset.

“He wants a public opportunity to be seen with you, for the sake of his standing with the Federalists, he can be courteous and seek you out. _I’m_ your wife, and I deserve to be the center of your attention at the party tonight. If he wants handshaking opportunities, make him work for them.” Eliza smirks devilishly. “And I don’t share lightly.”

“That is patently untrue, you push me at every decent Dom we meet,” Alex teases her. It’s true, she’s been angling for him to find a partner, now that she’s totally happy in her married _and_ romantic life, thanks to his choice to introduce her to Maria. She wants the same for him.

“Well, I don’t share with the likes of him, at least,” Eliza acknowledges with a laugh.

They finish getting ready, and Alex escorts her downstairs, where the carriage is waiting, and helps her inside. “Take the long way around, Fred, we’re in no hurry,” she tells the carriage driver. “I’d like to see the city in the snow.”

She reaches for Alex’s hand as they drive, pulling it into her lap. He squeezes back.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate that you let me drag you to these things?” he says. “I know it seems like we spend every weekend all winter shaking hands and eating overcooked dinners in other people’s homes.”

“Alex, I knew what I was getting into, marrying you. I always knew you’d be the kind of man who had to make appearances. I’m proud of you, for all that you’ve accomplished. I’m proud to be at your side,” she tells him.

“I love you so much,” Alex says, kissing her lightly. She leans against his shoulder, looking out the carriage window.

“I love getting to spend some time with you, this time of year,” she confesses. “There’s so much else going on in our lives- with Philip, and your job, and Maria. It’s nice when we can find moments at these things to spend together.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do tonight,” Alex decides. “Forget Adams, tonight I only have eyes for you,” he says, squeezing her closer.

They miss the before dinner drinks entirely and barely breeze in for supper. Alex, true to his word, is focused on a story he’s telling her as they walk in, and he breezes past Adams without a glance. She’d think he hadn’t seen him, if he hadn’t winked at her. The apoplectic look on Adams’ face at being ignored is funnier than Alex’s story.

They’ve been seated at Adams’ table. George is at his left and Martha at his right, with Abigail beside George and “JQ”, as Alex has derisively referred to the younger Adams, beside Martha. Alex is seated next to him, and the Adams’ work to monopolize the Washingtons.

Apparently to make Alex uncomfortable, he’s been seated beside Dolley Madison, with James beside Eliza. Adams has miscalculated, though, because Dolley is Eliza’s best friend, and with Jefferson at a different table, Alex manages to pull out his charm and keep the Madisons laughing all evening. They had all been dear friends, once. Eliza thoroughly enjoys spending the evening remembering those days.

Indeed, when the dancing begins after supper, Alex takes her around the floor before bringing her back to Dolley’s side. James is feeling a little tired and has begged off dancing, but he goes to fetch the ladies some punch and brings back drinks for himself and Alex as well. Alex takes it graciously.

When Dolley sighs as a couple twirls by, dancing, Alex glances at Madison and raises an eyebrow. Madison considers him, lips pressing upwards in surprise before he nods, and Alex bows to Dolley just as Jefferson walks up.

“May I have this dance?” Alex asks. Eliza claps, delighted, as he swirls her best friend onto the floor.

Jefferson frowns. “I thought I was going to dance with Dolley?” he asks James.

Madison shrugs. “He offered.”

“And you’re letting him dance with your wife?” Jefferson grouses. He’d been relegated to a side table with Burr, the widowers cast further from the center of the party. As a former Federalist and trusted advisor to the President, Madison was the only Democratic Republican at the head table. Now he seems to feel he’s been forgotten again.

Eliza, who knows about the two men from Dolley, watches with interest, curious to see what James will do.

“Yes, I’m ‘letting’ Dolley dance with her best friend’s husband, just as I expect _you_ to take Dolley’s best friend for a spin,” Madison says pointedly, winking at Eliza. She smiles, looking expectantly at Jefferson.

Who stutters, turning awkwardly to her, “If I may?” he asks.

“That would be lovely,” she says, barely hiding her laughter as Jefferson guides her onto the floor.

When the song changes, Alex finds them, swapping their partners with ease and nodding politely at Jefferson. Once they’ve danced away, he asks, “What was that all about?”

“He’s Dolley’s designated dance partner this evening, and his Dom wasn’t pleased he was rude about you taking her off. I was his punishment,” she whispers into his ear.

Alex throws his head back and laughs, spinning her when he’s through. Jefferson takes that as a challenge, spinning Dolley, and eventually the other dancers move to the edge of the floor, stepping back to watch the competing couples. The band repeats the verse of the song a few times, until they’re all out of breath. Finally, the song ends.

In tandem, as if they’d rehearsed it, Alex and Thomas spin the ladies out for curtsies. Dolley and Eliza curtsey, then turn and gesture to their partners, who bow grandly in tandem, standing up and nodding at each other. The couples take each others’ hands once more and stride off the dance floor as the new song begins and people begin filtering back out.

They return to where Madison is standing, and as one Thomas and Alex lean against the table, dropping their cool exteriors and panting. Washington walks up a moment later, trailed by a waiter, who passes out glasses of cider. The dancers drink eagerly as Madison and Washington laugh.

“Was it worth it?” James chuckles.

“Everyone will be talking about us all night,” Jefferson says, grinning proudly.

“You should’ve seen John’s face,” Washington adds conspiratorially. Now Alex is grinning, too. Eliza bumps their shoulders together, shooting him a sly look.

“A couple of non-Doms upstaging him at his own party, he must be furious,” Jefferson says with a grin. Alex’s head pops up, surprised to realize Jefferson shares his feelings about the Vice President. They share a look of fellow feeling.

Eliza leans over, resting against Alex. “Don’t forget the girls. We helped too,” she points out.

Dolley elbows Jefferson. “We were the stars out there, you two were lucky to get secondary billing,” she teases.

“And having stolen the show, I think it’s time we left. Give them something to talk about and leave them wanting more,” Eliza says with a laugh, taking Alex’s hand. He glances at Washington questioningly, but the General nods, giving him permission.

“The lady has spoken,” Alex announces, bowing to the assembled group in mock seriousness. He clasps Dolley’s hand, nodding at the Democratic Republicans, and Washington pats his shoulder in goodbye. They stop on the way out to hug Martha, who uses the opportunity to disengage from a conversation with Adams, going to look for her husband.

“Headed out so soon?” Adams sneers.

Alex shrugs. “It’s a decent party, but I’m not sure it’s worth my time,” he says, “especially not when my lovely wife wants to head home.” He pulls her close, and Eliza knows he’s using her as a shield and puts on a show, bending her neck prettily and playing at submission to Alex.

He picks up her cues, putting a possessive hand on the back of her neck. “We have better things to do with our evening. If you’ll excuse us,” he says, guiding her out of the room.

Eliza drops the charade once they’re outside and leans against him laughing as they wait for the carriage.

“That was so weird,” Alex says, leaning against her once they’re in the carriage.

“You were great. I think he bought it,” Eliza assures him.

“I haven’t pretended to Dom in _so long,”_ Alex says. “Thank you, though, that was brilliant. We showed him I’m not going to roll over and be a show pony for his campaign. And met him on his level, with the ‘Dom who’s too important for you’ schtick.”

“Can you imagine if we were actually like that?” Eliza chuckles.

“What, the traditional dynamic paradigm? If I were really a switch?” Alex asks. “Do you wish I was?”

Eliza leans into him. “Alex, all I’ve ever wanted to be different between us… is that I used to wish I could be everything you need, myself. But even with that, you showed me that sometimes, being exactly what each other needs means not trying to be _everything_ the other person needs.”

Alex wraps his arms around her. “I’m so glad that, no matter what either of us needs in life, we can come back to each other,” he says.

“I never dreamed I’d wind up in a marriage where I could be myself and be happy,” Eliza tells him. “I’m glad we can have things besides each other, without losing each other. And I’m glad we can still find chances to be together,” she says, gripping his hand.

“What if we didn’t head straight home?” Alex asks. “Speaking of time together.”

“What did you have in mind?” Eliza asks.

“Let’s put down the top of the carriage and drive through the city,” Alex says. “Just look at the stars and the snow.”

Eliza wraps herself around him more tightly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “That sounds nice,” she says. Alex knocks on the front of the carriage, and they pull over.

Once they’re stopped, he hops out, lowering the top of the carriage. “We’d like to just drive around for a while, Fred,” he says.

The city is beautiful by carriage, especially with the lamp posts lit. They’ve barely gotten going again when snow begins to fall softly. Alex pulls Eliza under his cloak, and they snuggle together as they ride, close and warm in the crisp winter air.

They look at the stars, laugh about nothing, and chat about the holidays. Eliza dozes off eventually, and she wakes up as Fred is helping Alex slide her out of the carriage. He cuddles her close and she wraps a hand around his jacket collar, not coming all the way awake. She stirs slightly as she hears murmuring voices, and she’s being gently and carefully undressed and laid down in bed.

She wakes up when she feels a warm body slide into bed beside her, smiling when she reaches out and realizes it’s Alexander. She snuffles appreciatively against his neck, sighing happily when she feels Maria slip under the sheets behind her. Her lover kisses her shoulder as her husband kisses her forehead, and she falls back asleep, warm, content, and loved.


	20. Hamilton/Jefferson/Madison, Decorating the Tree (D/s, AU OF THE D/s verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their first Christmas together, and they have different ideas of what that should look like.
> 
> Genre: Discipline, OT3, eventual fluff
> 
> NOTE: This very much does not take place in the D/s verse, though the mechanics of the universe are the same. This is in a parallel universe, where these three wind up together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I was writing AU anyway, I wrote "Traditional threesome spanking fic"? The two subs love each other but fight constantly, and the Dom has to sort them out.
> 
> It's VERY different for me, but also somehow not? I hope you enjoyed it, and now I'm having all of these ideas about these versions of them....
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> I'd also like to announce I'm going to do "Twelve Days of Christmas" through Jan 6, with "Follow up fic"- what did we play with in the advent fics that we want to see more of? Give me ideas! Definitely doing the roleplay fic with Alex/Aaron, but other than that I'm open to ideas!

Their first Christmas together brings the differences in their pasts into sharp relief. James is prepared for it- it’s not the first time Alex has been out of his element and surly about it, or the first time Thomas has gotten twitchy and oversensitive. Thomas is very fond and protective of their traditions, and he reads any hesitance to participate as critique of them. Especially given that they’re at Monticello, which Alex made disdainful comments about as a ‘palace’ before they were together, and which is a core part of Thomas’ identity, as the place he’s always called home.

Over breakfast the day before Christmas Eve, James says, “I need you both to plan on wrapping up work a little early today please.”

Alex hesitates, looking like he’s not sure if he wants to object, but Thomas smiles. “The trees?” he asks.

James nods. “The twenty third, as always.”

Tom sees Alex’s confusion and turns to explain. “We always have the trees delivered on December 23rd. Don’t worry, the staff knows what to do about decorating. But it’s exciting to see them once they’re up.”

Alex looks baffled. “What’s the point of that?”

Thomas stares at him. “Of Christmas trees?” he asks, stunned.

“Of watching someone else put them up,” Alex says flatly.

Madison steps in, hoping he can keep this from becoming a fight. “Alex, the estate is huge. There’s no way we could decorate it all by ourselves.”

“Yeah, because you  _ need _ this much space, for two people,” Alex snorts.

“Three people, technically-” James reminds him.

“I forget sometimes, you haven’t adjusted to living  _ indoors _ yet,” Tom snarks. It’s rude and unnecessary, and James is about to scold him for it, but before he can, Alex  _ explodes. _

He stands, and lunges across the table at Tom, hissing, “You  _ son of a bitch,” _ as he tries to get close enough to hit him.

Thomas’ face goes red. “At least I  _ had _ a mother, who was  _ married,” _ he says furiously.

“Enough!” James thunders, bringing his hands down on the table, which Alex is about to climb onto, to get at Thomas. “That is enough, from both of you. It is more than enough. My office, now.”

Both of them remain frozen, staring at him. “I said  _ now!” _ he reminds them, pointing.

They both scurry to obey, but as he follows them, he hears the argument continue.

“This is your fault,” Thomas whispers, “You’re determined to ruin Christmas, aren’t you?”

“Me? You don’t even know what Christmas  _ is, _ you think it’s just another chance to show off and look down on real people,” Alex snipes back.

“Quiet, both of you,” James tells them. “You’re in enough trouble already.”

“Because of you,” Thomas snarks at Alex, determined to get the last word in.

In his office, he points them toward the two empty corners. “Corners, both of you,” he says. Separating them for a few minutes to calm down  _ sometimes _ helps everyone stay calm when he hands out punishment. Alex and Tom love each other, truly. But they’ve fought for so many years it’s automatic, now, and once they get started, they don’t know how to stop.

Alex goes- he’s still skittish, sometimes, and however upset he is, he tends to obey when punishment is imminent. Although sometimes he just bottles up the anger and explodes afterwards, leading to another punishment. It’s not a smooth system yet, but they're working on it.

Where Alex stows his anger, Tom burns hot and fast where their third is concerned. He’s not willing to be sent to calm down. “Why do  _ I _ need to go to the corner, I’m not the one who  _ attacked _ someone,” he grouses.

James raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yes you are, and in fact you started it. Just because you attacked verbally while Alex went for physical doesn’t change that both of you lashed out. Corner, now,” he says. Tom opens his mouth to argue, and James turns him, swatting him hard. “I said go,” he reminds his sub.

Tom glowers, but goes. He’s already mostly spent his anger. The subs’ different ways of burning through it when they’re upset with each other have made things tricky sometimes. Tom needs him to put a stop to his attitude, not hear him out. He’ll stay in that cycle of lashing out until James helps him break it. By the time punishment is over, Tom will be contrite and ready to make up. Alex, on the other hand, needs his anger and bad feelings heard before he can put them aside. If James doesn’t do that, he’ll still be angry no matter what the punishment is, and rebuff Tom’s attempts to make up, afterwards.

Now, James goes to retrieve the small, round paddle he keeps in his desk. He sets it on top of the desk where they’ll both see it when they come out of the corner. He gives them a few more minutes, watching them carefully. Alex’s body language isn’t giving anything away, which means he’s still upset but too wary of James to show it. But the tension is draining out of Thomas, and he leaves them there until the older sub, at least, is calm.

“Come here, please,” he says finally, leaning against the desk. Both subs come to stand in front of him. Tom looks concerned when he sees the paddle. Alex’s eyes glide over it, but he doesn’t react at all. Not a good sign.

“The way you’ve treated each other this morning is wholly unacceptable,” James scolds.

Tom apparently  _ isn’t _ quite calm yet. “I don’t see why I should have to stand by and take it while he disparages our traditions, James,” he says.

Alex doesn’t speak, to defend himself or point out Thomas’ own bad behavior. Shit, this is bad. James reminds Thomas, “We know we have different expectations of the holiday, Tom. And what is  _ always _ off limits, no matter how angry you are with Alex?” he reminds the other man.

“His mother,” Tom admits. It seems to hit him then just what line he crossed, and he looks at the other sub, stiff and remote, self righteousness giving way to regret. “Alex, I’m sorry,” he says softly, reaching for their younger partner. Alex flinches, leaning away, but doesn’t speak.

He’s shutting down on them. James will try to draw him back, but if Alex is really shut down, they’re definitely waiting until later to deal with punishment. This isn’t how he’d hoped today would go, at all.

“Alex?” he asks, drawing the younger man’s attention to him. Alex looks up- he’s still responsive, even if he’s not engaging. Hopefully that means the situation can be salvaged.

“I think we all need to have a conversation later about Christmas traditions, and how we can incorporate everyone’s. What you want for the holidays matters too, Alex,” he says first.

“I’m just street trash, I should consider myself lucky to even be included,” Alex says with flat menace. “Besides, without a family, how would I even know what Christmas is supposed to be?”

Tom winces. “Alex, I’m sorry. I got defensive, and went on the offensive,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Sure,” Alex says flatly.

“You both said things designed to hurt each other,” James reminds them. “Alex, did you mean what you said, or were you reacting because you felt attacked?” Alex nods tightly. “Then isn’t it possible Tom was doing the same thing?” he points out.

“He started it,” Alex points out.

“He started the  _ intentional _ fight,” James corrects gently. “But I think your reaction to the trees hurt his feelings, even if you weren’t trying to.”

Thomas nods. “I love tree day,” he says. “Just because I spent money on something doesn’t mean it’s not important to me,” he says, an edge of complaint finding its way into his voice.

James intercedes. “You two have had different priorities. And that’s fine, they’re both valid. But you  _ both _ need to learn to respect each other’s perspective. And you absolutely know lashing out the way you each did is not okay.”

Alex drops his eyes, accepting the correction but not yet ready to apologize. Tom, who isn’t angry anymore, just upset and hurt, overreacts, still trying to make some kind of connection in the face of Alex’s clearly hurt feelings.

“We can cancel the trees,” Tom offers. “We can tell them not to bother. I don’t... It’s not any fun, if Alex hates them.”

Alex’s head does come up at that. “What, if I don’t like your impersonal trees you’re canceling Christmas?” he accuses.

“That’s not what he said at all, Alex,” James points out.

“It’s his big house, and his fancy Christmas, and if I don’t like it I can just do without,” Alex argues.

“It’s  _ our _ home and  _ our _ Christmas, and  _ you’re _ ruining it being petty!” Thomas cries. “You’ve already turned tree day into a fight instead of a celebration, and gotten us both in trouble.”

“Thomas-” James says, reaching out to calm his sub down.

“No! I’m happy to do what he wants, and accommodate him, and change things for him. Nevermind  _ my _ traditions I enjoy or look forward to. But that’s not enough. He’s mad we don’t automatically know what he wants, but he won’t  _ tell _ us, because then he can’t play the victim. I’m sick of being the bad guy!” Tom shouts.

“Have you ever tried  _ asking _ me?” Alex shouts back. “You just assume I want what you want, nobody asked me if there was  _ anything _ I wanted to do for Christmas. This doesn’t even feel like Christmas, it feels like I’m trapped in a fucking snow globe with a couple of cartoons!”

“Enough!” James shouts over them. “We are going to discuss this, but we are going to do it civilly. And Thomas is not the bad guy here. I’m the one who told the servants to go ahead with the usual plans for the trees.”

“The way  _ he _ wants them,” Alex grouses.

“The way I’m used to doing them. Tom and I grew up with the same expectations, Alex. Sometimes, we just don’t think about things having been different for you. It’s not deliberate, and we aren’t trying to exclude you. But you need to learn to ask for what you want, as much as we need to learn not to assume,” James tells him.

“I  _ know _ you spent Christmases at Mount Vernon. How is this so weird, to you? Estates need manpower,” Thomas laments.

“Sure, we didn’t decorate the whole place ourselves. But the General and I always cut the tree for the family room, and we decorated it,” Alex says. “Mama M had cocoa ready when we got back, and popcorn popped, and we’d make ginger dough ornaments and string popcorn and cranberries and talk and snack while we made the decorations, then hang them up together,” he remembers wistfully. “It was a leftover tradition from the war. Even if we couldn’t do much, those years, Mama M wanted to make Christmas special.”

“That sounds really great,” Thomas says. Then he hesitates. “But… James shouldn’t be wandering around in the cold, with his lungs. And under the circumstances, I don’t think he’s going to let us go off by ourselves with an axe.”

“Do we have to cut it down, or is it enough if we make the decorations ourselves and put them up?” James asks. “We could have our own tree, separate from the decorations for the party.”

Thomas always throws a big party December 26, a tradition he’s carried over from his parents. Alex isn’t thrilled about it, but he’s accepted that it’s not just tradition but necessary, for social and political reasons.

Alex asks, hesitant, “Could we have a tree in our room? So it’s just for us, and it doesn’t have to match?”

Thomas beams. “And we can decorate it? I don’t know how to make ginger ornaments, we have fancy glass ones and crocheted lace garland for the main trees, but I think I’d like decorating a tree ourselves.”

James smiles. “I think that’s a great idea,” he says. “Alex, what do you think? Can you teach us to make our own decorations?”

Alex hesitates. “I… You’re not going to cancel decorating? Because I tried to hit Thomas?” he asks. “He said…”

Tom is still sensitive after being rebuffed when he tried to make up earlier, but he reaches for Alex’s hands now and the other sub tenses but doesn’t pull away. “Alex, I was willing to give up decorating if you didn’t want it. I didn’t mean I’d… take it away, or try to get James to, because I was mad at you,” he says.

“We’ll deal with how  _ both _ of you behaved, and we’ll consider it handled. It doesn’t have to ruin tree day,” James assures them both.

Alex bites his lip. His eyes slide to the paddle, clearly apprehensive. At least he’s relaxed enough to let it show, now. “I want a real Christmas. With you guys,” he allows.

“Alex, canceling Christmas was never on the table,” James assures him. “You couldn’t do anything that would make me do that.”

“It doesn’t even feel like Christmas,” Alex laments. “It’s cold. It all smells all wrong.”

Thomas jumps on that, thankfully not defensively. “Smells wrong?”

“Everything should smell like warmth. Apple cider and baking and home,” Alex explains.

“We can work on that,” Thomas says. “Monticello’s big, even when there’s baking the smells don’t travel into the main part of the house, but we can figure that out.”

“That’s a good project for later today. But there’s something we need to take care of, first,” James reminds them sternly. They both immediately look toward the paddle. “Let’s get this over with,” he says gently, taking the paddle and going to sit on the couch.

When they get in trouble for hurting each other, he makes them stay in the room for one another’s punishments, but gives them a choice of  _ how _ they witness it. Alex generally puts himself back in the corner while Thomas is spanked, either to grant the other sub privacy or avoid dealing with seeing Tom upset, James isn’t sure. Thomas either starts out sulking across the room or fretting behind the couch, depending on whether he’s calmed down, but he always ends up fidgety and upset, blaming himself for Alex being in trouble.

James has also learned that absolutely the only way this works is if he spanks Alex first. Alex can’t handle the wait, with the extra stress of hearing Tom punished, and works himself up into near hysterics if he goes second. And whatever caused the fight, Thomas inevitably ends up feeling responsible and guilty, and he’ll spiral into remorse if he has to witness Alex’s punishment after his own, with no more punishment coming to grant him absolution from the feeling.

Today, he sits, holding out a hand and prompting, “Alex?”

Alex comes to his side, reluctant and not quite meeting his eyes. “Undress, please,” James says. Alex doesn’t do well with him handling him too much, at this phase in the proceedings. Expects violence, even if it’s never something he’s gotten from James.

He fumbles with his jacket, today- there’s been a lot of emotion, on top of the fight, and Alex is a little shaky in the aftermath. Thomas steps forward. “Can I help?” he asks.

He’s asking Alex, so James stays silent. The other sub looks at him hesitantly for a moment, then nods. Tom carefully helps Alex out of his jacket and vest so they can get to his braces, disconnecting them from his breeches. He steps back there and lets Alex finish himself, which is probably wise. When Alex is undressed, James offers him a hand and guides the younger man into position.

He pushes Alex’s shirt up to expose his backside, feeling Alex shiver. He places his left hand on Alex’s back, patting gently. “Why am I going to punish you?” he asks.

It’s a check in, the first of two questions he always asks the younger sub, and Alex’s answer reassures him. “Because you’re responsible for taking care of us,” he says. It’s not a memorized answer- it changes slightly, from time to time. But the content of Alex’s response lets him know where the skittish submissive’s head is. Any response referencing Alex being ‘bad’ or James being ‘angry’ or ‘disappointed’ is a red flag that Alex is expecting to be harmed, not disciplined- or feeling like he deserves it.

James praises him, now. “Very good. And that means not letting you hurt each other, and not leaving you to deal with it alone when things go wrong,” he reminds Alex. “Now, what did you do to earn this spanking?” he asks.

“I almost hit Tom. I said some really shitty things. I ruined Christmas,” Alex lists.

“No!” Tom knows better, but he jumps into the conversation anyway, unable to stop himself. James thinks he may be who Alex needs to hear right now, though, so he doesn’t interrupt. “You didn’t ruin Christmas, sweetheart. Nothing’s ruined. James and I won’t let it be,” the older sub insists. He kneels to see Alex’s face, stroking his hair. “We both messed up, but Jemmy will fix it and Christmas will be even better, because this forced us to talk about it.”

Alex winds up in a weird place with Thomas sometimes. They’re both submissives, but while Thomas doesn’t have a genuinely Dominant bone in his body, he is older, protective, and prone to slipping into a leadership role with Alex, when he’s not letting himself be baited into acting out. Alex sometimes rails against that, but more and more lately he lets himself look up to Tom. The difficult side effect is that Alex winds up half expecting, and sometimes even wanting, Tom to discipline him after he’s misbehaved. Today, it had been apparent in him thinking Tom was going to ‘take away Christmas’.

But while Tom will give Alex absolutely anything within his power, he can’t do that for him. He tried, once, when Alex was deliberately goading him into it and James was away for a few days. Alex had been fine- he’d gotten a spanking far less severe than he’d have had from their Dom, and been spoiled absolutely rotten in the aftermath- but Thomas had dropped badly for days.

Tom can, and has, though, reinforced the idea that he considers them square after James has punished the younger sub, and he does so now. “James is going to spank you for how you acted, and me, too, but then we’ll  _ all _ move on, and I’m going to figure out how to make the house smell like Christmas for you,” he promises.

Alex sniffles. “You’re not mad at me?” he checks.

“Of course not,” Thomas tells him. He pets Alex’s hair again, leaning against the settee. “How about if I stay right here with you, while you get your spanking?” he offers. “Would that help?”

Alex, who doesn’t like to be held or touched during punishment, wraps his arms tightly around Tom. “Please?” he says softly.

Thomas glances up at James, as he pats Alex’s shoulder. James nods reassuringly. “I think that’s a good idea,” the Dom tells them. “Now, are you ready?” he asks Alex. Alex nods into Thomas’ shoulder.

He warms Alex up with his hand, first, spanking his bottom with quick, fast little smacks to build up the stinging first. Alex’s paler skin colors more quickly than Tom does, and once he’s nicely pinked James slows down, gradually increasing the force behind the spanks.

Alex takes the spanking, like he takes all punishments, with heartbreaking stoicism. He doesn’t know how to let himself just let go and react to a spanking, so he swallows it down and tries to take it bravely. He’s got a naturally high pain tolerance, it’s true, but his studied neutrality in the face of punishment had been difficult to adjust to, compared to Thomas.

James basically uses the warm up to even the punishment out, accounting for pain tolerance, so that the paddling is equally intense for both of them. So Alex gets a long, hard warm up at the beginning of the spanking, and at first he takes it as stoically as ever.

Eventually, though, James realizes something is different about Alex, today. Instead of growing tenser as his bottom grows sorer, he seems to be translating that energy into clinging to Tom. It’s the closest to an outlet he’s ever allowed himself during punishment, and Thomas encourages it, murmuring quiet reassurances.

Alex is red bottomed and clinging hard to Thomas when James reaches for the paddle. He rests it on the crest of Alex’s cheeks for a moment, then warns him, “Twenty with the paddle, then we’re done.”

He raises the implement, bringing it down sharply, and Alex scares the hell out of him by gasping. Alex generally only reacts at all if he’s truly at the edge of his endurance- it’s only happened a couple of times, and it’s always worrying, given how hard he works at staying quiet and still. He looks the young man over, but Alex looks alright- sore bottomed, but not hurt or tense. Thomas looks at him with wide eyes, raising his eyebrows uncertainly.

James gives Alex another whack, on the other cheek and deliberately going a little light, just in case. He gasps again, nuzzling closer to Thomas. It’s like he’s letting himself react, now, because he’s safe in the other sub’s arms. This is good- this is great.

James gives Alex the rest of his thoroughly deserved paddling and Alex’s little noises turn into tiny whines, his cheeks bouncing as they clench in response to the swats. It’s a milestone for the young sub, and so as he finishes, James pats his back. “I’m so proud of you, Alex, you did so well. It’s safe to react when it hurts,” he assures him. He pries Alex out of Thomas’ arms, guiding him up to sit in James’ lap. Tom stays kneeling, but crowds closer, and Alex whines as his bottom settles on James’ thigh, then buries his face in his Dom’s collar and cries.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

This is expected, too, and James just holds Alex, rocking him through the tears. They’re less about pain than fear and grief, he’s discovered, as Alex processes that they really are moving past whatever he did wrong to get himself spanked. Eventually, Alex calms down, and James holds him tight for another long moment.

When Alex looks up at him, James kisses him softly. “You’re forgiven, and you were very brave, letting yourself react. Good boy.”

Alex smiles softly, soaking up the praise. James helps him stand, standing as well to hug him again. Beside them, Thomas rises as well. Alex looks at him uncertainly.

Thomas doesn’t make him ask. “Of course I forgive you, baby.” He pats Alex’s bottom as he says it, and a tiny hint of sterness creeps into his tone. “Now no more fussing about Christmas being ruined, because we’re going to make it okay,” he promises.

Alex needs different things from them, after a spanking. He needs softness and reassurance from James, which is easy- it’s exactly what he wants to offer. But he also needs the version of Thomas that manages him, and looks after him. Not the more volatile side of the other sub he draws out in arguments. He needs the steadiness of feeling sheltered and protected, by both of them.

It’s been interesting, because Tom is  _ so _ protective of Alex when he’s vulnerable, no matter how annoyed he was with him earlier. The first time James spanked the younger sub to tears, Tom hadn’t spoken to him for a whole day. Now, they mostly have a system that works.

And part of that routine is that once Alex is spanked, they all cuddle until he feels better, then he retreats so James can punish Tom. Alex doesn’t seem to be planning on walking away today, though.

“Alex, I need to spank Tom, now,” James reminds him.

“Can I stay?” Alex asks. “I mean, not in the corner. With you? Would that be okay?” he asks Thomas.

“If you’re comfortable with that,” Tom tells him. James sits back down in the middle of the settee, and Tom comes to his side, removing his jacket and vest and setting them aside, then lowering his clothes. James holds out a hand to help him and guides the sub across his lap. Alex isn’t sure what to do with himself, and flits around them.

Thomas has his arms crossed under his chin, but he holds out a hand. “Why don’t you come hold my hand?” he suggests to Alex, who kneels beside him and does just that, taking on his job with an adorable seriousness.

“What am I spanking you for, Tom?” James asks. Tom is generally much more straightforward, with punishment, but it never hurts to make sure they’re on the same page.

“For being mean to Alex, because I was feeling defensive,” Thomas tells him easily.

“Very good,” the Dom tells him, and begins spanking.

He starts with quick, stinging spanks just like he did with Alex. Tom, however, reacts much more quickly. He’s gasping by the time his bottom’s pinked up, and he kicks to cope with the sting as James gives him a few harder handspanks.

“Oh! Oh! Oww!” Tom cries as James spanks the tender undercurve of his cheeks, and James figures he’s sufficiently warmed up. He’s had less warm up than Alex did, but he’s also been much more quickly affected by it. Proportional, not identical, is his strategy for dealing with his subs.

They are both getting the same amount of paddling, though, and so he picks the implement up and warns Tom, “Twenty with the paddle, sweetheart. Deep breath.”

Tom cries and kicks through the paddling, twisting his hips miserably. James gives them to him quickly, then tries to lift him up for a hug- except Alex won’t let go.

Alex has one of Thomas’ big hands tightly gripped between his own smaller ones, and he’s buried his face in Thomas’ hair and is crying right along with him.

Now that the spanking is over, Tom seems to become aware of how distraught the smaller sub is, and he reaches out with his free hand to soothe Alex. “You’re okay, baby. We’re both okay,” he tells him.

Alex continues to cry. “I’m so sorry I got us in trouble!” he says.

“It was me as much as you, baby, and I’m sorry, too. Now come on, let me get up so we can have a snuggle, okay?” Thomas says, voice teary but still coaxing- trying to take care of Alex, even when he’s freshly spanked himself.

Alex reluctantly releases Thomas, clamoring up onto the sofa. Tom shifts back onto his knees beside James, and Alex immediately climbs straight into his lap.

“Oof,” Tom says, as James shifts to try to hug them both. “I’ve got you, we’re okay,” Tom assures Alex.

“We’re all just fine, and when everybody’s calm, we’re going to learn to make our own Christmas decorations,” James reminds them.

Alex shifts to get his nearest arm around James’ neck, pulling him in closer as well. “I love you both,” he says. “I love you.”

“We love you, too,” Tom tells him easily. “So much.”

They stay like that, snuggled close, for a long time. When everyone feels steadier, Thomas redresses and they take over the kitchens- making a huge mess as Alex teaches them to string garland and roll out and cut ginger cookie ornaments. Tom remembers there’s supposed to be cocoa, but burns it, and then devotes himself, and the kitchen staff, to making what seems like a ridiculous amount of cider.

It seems ridiculous until he has the cider split among pots and hung above all of the fireplaces, at least. He gives instructions to water it down every few hours so it doesn’t burn, and by the time they take their decorations upstairs, the whole house smells like cinnamon and apples and warmth.

“It’s perfect,” Alex says, kissing Thomas happily in the hall.

“Almost,” James tells him, tugging them into their bedroom, where a bare tree awaits. They decorate it together, then settle in the bed with mugs of cocoa  _ not _ made by them, to admire their handiwork.

“It really is perfect,” Thomas says.

“It’s Christmas,” Alex agrees.

James pulls both of them close, kissing them each in turn. “It really, really is.”

  
  



	21. Alex & Washington's, Popcorn (maybe D/s?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza and Philip went ahead to Senator Schuyler's without Alex. He doesn't do well home alone, but Mama M sorts him out.
> 
> Genre: spanking, family fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It won't let me make just one chapter a gift, but I wrote this one with withlove_sid in mind, because he deserves something to cheer him up today. Love you, friend! If you've got time, guys, go check out Sid's micro!advent fics. They're great.

At first, George thinks Alex is just angry with him. This is a Schuyler year, for the Hamiltons’ Christmas- they’d done Thanksgiving with the Washingtons, and they trade off. But with relations with Britain and their Canadian colonies what they are, the government isn’t properly shutting down for Christmas. Which means Peggy’s husband has escorted the two younger Schuyler sisters and Philip upstate, and Alex is still in the city.

Eliza’s only been gone a day when Alex starts snapping at his mentor. George takes a deep breath, letting it go the first couple of times it happens. He knows Alex misses his family when they’re apart, and it can make him short tempered, even when they aren’t all working so hard. Then Alex calls him ‘old and out of touch’ in front of Madison and Jefferson, and he decides enough is enough.

“I don’t think this meeting is particularly productive, right now. Gentlemen, perhaps we can continue this later?” he says. James gives him a knowing look as he guides Thomas out of the President’s office. Alex goes to follow.

“A word, Alexander, if you please,” Washington says. Alex closes the door behind the other men and turns reluctantly to face him. “Is there a problem?” he asks his surrogate son.

Alex swallows deeply. “No, sir, no problem,” he says.

Washington sighs. “I know you miss them,” he begins.

“I’ve got too much to do to miss them,” Alex says. “Someone’s got to take the tariff issue seriously, around here.”

“Alexander,” Washington says, his tone heavy with warning. “I am taking it very seriously. I am also taking the disputes with the Natives and the Englishmen in Canada who may be arming them seriously, though, and one of those problems has a body count.”

“You can’t solve every problem with military action, with all due respect,  _ sir,” _ Alex snarks.

“No,” Washington says levelly, “But the military does have some things right- including that a proper chain of command and respect for superior officers makes an entire operation run more smoothly. I’m starting to think you need a reminder of that lesson.”

“Again, I don’t have time for history lessons, we have problems  _ now,” _ Alex grouses.

“And you can mull them over later. Right now, I think you need a few minutes to get yourself under control. The corner, please,” he instructs firmly.

Alex’s mouth drops open in shock. “Sir!” he argues.

“Alex, you are out of chances,” Washington tells him firmly. “You need to calm down before you start a fight you don’t want to have, and you’ll do that better with fewer distractions. The corner, now, please.”

Alex goes reluctantly to the corner, and after a few minutes the lines of bitter anger in his posture give way to his thinking pose, and George calls him back out.

“I’m sorry, I was being disrespectful,” Alex says immediately. George hugs him gently.

“Do you feel better, now?” he asks.

Alex clings for a moment. “Yeah, I do,” he admits.

When Alex is feeling steady enough to emerge from his father’s arms, George sends him back to work, thinking it’s a one off. A bout of temper caused by stress, meetings, and resentment over his family going north without him.

The next day, Alex calls Madison, “A useless wind machine.”

This is particularly tactless in light of the difficulty Madison has been having with his cough this winter, and Thomas jumps to his secret Dom’s defense immediately. George stands up to separate them and sends Alexander to wait for him in his office, then begins making his apologies.

“I’m very sorry, he’s under tremendous stress right now,” he tells Madison.

“Yes, it’s very stressful being that much of a dick,” Thomas snarks back.

“There’ve been days where you were just as bad,” James tells him pointedly. “Hamilton is having a bad day. We’re going to trust that George is handling this and  _ move on.” _

George smiles at his old friend gratefully, then grows serious. “I assure you he’ll be apologizing. I should’ve stopped this meeting an hour ago, I think we’d all run out of stamina and ideas already. That’s my mistake.”

“Balancing the holidays and the job is taking a lot of juggling this year,” Madison notes.

“From all of us,” Washington agrees.

“Is the kid okay?” Jefferson asks, surprising him. “Just… he’s turning into a racoon.”

George has noticed the dark circles too, and they seem far too pronounced to just be the result of a couple of rough nights with Eliza and Philip gone. “I’m going to get to the bottom of what’s wrong with him. But whatever it is, he’s behaved terribly with you two the past couple of days, and you have my apologies.”

“Understood. We all have moments where we aren’t our best,” James says graciously. “Now, we’ll leave you to deal with that, and I think we’re going to call it a night.”

Alex is slumped in one of the guest chairs snoring when Washington returns to his office. He jostles the young man slightly, rousing him.

“Wha- What? I’m up!” Alex yelps.

“Not very,” George says. He looks his son over critically. “You behaved abominably back there- we have  _ talked _ about making personal attacks instead of discussing the issues.”

“The issue is that Madison would rather hear himself talk than solve a problem,” Alex grouses.

“It isn’t, and you know it. And your behavior was rude and uncalled for,” George scolds.

Alex winces, fragile under all of the bravado. He sighs, getting up slowly. “I know, I know, corner,” he says, his shoulders slumping wearily.

He really does look terrible- dark circles, yes, but his hair’s also messy the way it gets when he can’t stop running his hands through it, and his eyes are bright with brittle energy, like he’s one push from the edge. George makes a decision.

“Get your coat. It’s time to leave,” he says.

Alex spins on his heel to stare at him, eyes wide. “You’re sending me home?” There’s little boy hurt in the words as he stares at his mentor.

“I’m  _ taking _ you home. We’re going to get proper food in you- have you eaten today at all? And you’re going to get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow,” George announces.

“I have too much to do!” Alex argues.

“What, that you’re honestly going to make any progress on in this state?” George asks. Alex looks at his feet. “That’s what I thought. Get your coat, please.”

Alex grumbles as he goes. “Watch your tone,” George tells him firmly. “I haven’t forgotten that you didn’t answer my question about eating, either.”

No matter how defensive and combative he’s feeling, need wins out, and Alex sways closer and closer to George as they make the short walk to the Residence, until he just reaches out and wraps an arm around the younger man. Alex holds himself stiffly for a moment, then leans heavily into his father. It makes walking tricky, but George thinks giving the boy some reassurance is worth it.

George hadn’t had time to send a note ahead to warn Martha he’s bringing their son home, but the grands are already with their mother for the holiday, so he’s confident his wife will be thrilled to have someone to fuss over. Indeed, when they find her in the sitting room, she stands to greet them.

“Welcome home. And you’ve brought Alexander, how wonderful.” She hugs the boy, then pulls him back, looking over him critically and brushing his hair back from his face. “And  _ what  _ has happened to you, dear? You look miserable.”

“I,” Alex says with a dramatic sigh, “am in trouble. You’re probably not supposed to be nice to me,” he warns.

Martha shoots him a questioning glance over Alex’s head, and he shakes his head subtly. “You,” he corrects Alex, “are not looking after yourself, so I’m stepping in. We’ll worry about you being in trouble when you’re not falling asleep in my guest chairs and forgetting to eat.”

Martha clucks at him disapprovingly. “We’ve got an hour or so until supper, I wasn’t expecting George so early. We’ll find you a snack, come on.”

She chivies the exhausted man toward the kitchen. George pours himself a drink and settles on the settee. Hopefully, motherly warmth is exactly what Alex needs right now. And if he can’t talk to George about what’s bothering him, hopefully he can tell Martha.

She brings him back a few minutes later with a plate of gingerbread, shooing Alex onto the couch in-between them. He sits stiffly. “I’m tired, maybe I should just go home and get some sleep,” Alex suggests.

George raises an eyebrow at him. “Alex. You don’t honestly think I’m going to let you go home tonight, do you?” he asks.

Alex shrinks into himself. “Son…” George says. Alex still doesn’t know what to do with honest concern. Especially when he’s in trouble- he has a terrible time working out what to do with affection when he’s expecting punishment.

He stands up. “Martha, would you excuse us for a moment?” he says.

Alex stands nervously, looking like he expects to be executed. Martha squeezes his hand and he gives her a tremulous smile before following George to his office.

“You’re too worn down to talk about what’s wrong,” George tells him. “You’re also not going to relax with punishment hanging over your head, are you?”

Alex looks at him helplessly. “I’m trying,” he whispers.

“I know,” George agrees. “I want you to write Madison an apology,” he decides. If Alex will do it, they’ll forego corner time or a scolding and just get this resolved, so they can get to the bottom of what’s really going on.

Alex clenches his fists. “He was being obstructive,” he insists.

“And you calling him names is going to help with that?” Washington asks. Alex looks away. “Write the apology, and we’re done with it. Otherwise you’re going to the corner to think about what you did wrong, first. And you’ll still have to write it.”

Alex’s fists remain clenched, and he looks so frustrated George thinks the boy might cry. He gets out paper and a quill, setting them at the guest chair in front of his desk. “Come on, let’s get it over with,” he tells his son.

Alex takes the quill, sitting reluctantly. Washington takes his own seat, pretending to read over a letter but really watching his son. Alex’s grip on the quill is too tight with tension, and he spots the letter and growls, frustrated. He doesn’t start again, though, just keeps going.

When he’s done, he folds it, going to seal it. The movement seems strangely secretive, so George holds out his hand.

Alex pulls the letter back. “Why do you need to see it?” he asks.

“To check your penmanship,” George tells him flatly. Alex knows exactly why he wants to see it, and the reluctance he hands it over with shows that George isn’t going to like what he reads.

_ Congressman Madison, _

_ I am sorry for a great many things about our meeting today. I’m sorry that it was deemed necessary to include you at all, when you added nothing to the discourse. I am deeply sorry that I had to listen to you prattle on, when I had actual work to do. I’m sorry that you are so addicted to the sound of your own voice that you cannot shut up long enough to accomplish anything. But above all, I am abjectly sorry to know you. _

_ With deepest derision, _

_ Alexander Hamilton _

Washington just stares at his son, as he puts the letter down. “I was going to send this off, tonight. Were you actually going to let that letter be sent?” he asks.

“I feel it gets to the heart of the issue rather well,” Alex tells him, all shaky bravado.

“Alexander.” George’s voice is stern, but Alex holds onto his disrespectful slouch. Alex needs this dealt with tonight, though he’s in no fit state for it. That makes things tricky. George’s mistake was giving him so much room to make things worse. He won’t be doing that, again. Nor will he be giving Alex the space to work himself up further into indignation.

“Clearly, that was too open ended.” He takes out a piece of paper, writing two sentences across the top.

_ I will be respectful to my colleagues. Disrespecting the General’s advisors is disrespecting him. _

He uses ‘the General’ rather than ‘Washington’ or ‘the President’ because it’s Alex’s own substitute for ‘my Father’, which he’s never been comfortable saying. What he’s trying to do right now is get Alex to at least stop and listen to  _ him, _ even if he’s too worked up to deal properly with Madison.

“Twenty times each,” he decides. It’s not much, but the boy is exhausted and he wants this dealt with before supper. He knows from experience just how long Alex can hold on to a sulk.

Alex startles when he reads the second sentence, flicking a quick glance at his surrogate father. George answers it levelly, disapprovingly. Alex begins to write.

He does them perfectly, taking extra care with his penmanship. When he’s done, he sets down his quill nervously but doesn’t speak.

George picks up the page, scanning it quickly. “Good work,” he tells Alex. Even such a small act of obedience was clearly hard won, as tightly wound as the boy is. He gets out another piece of paper, but this one he keeps for himself.

“We’re going to draft your apology together. Then you can rewrite it,” he decides.

“Sir,” Alex whines.

“Does being disrespectful solve anything, Alex? Or does it just make people less likely to listen?” Washington scolds. “You say James is being obstructive, but the person who is the most in your way right now is  _ you, _ because you’re putting your pride ahead of trying to find a solution everyone can live with.”

“My solution is good, and I’ve got too much to do to spend my whole day justifying myself!” Alex whines, his voice rising. He’s on edge, to be yelling at his father like this.

“You do have some good points. But so does James, and you were so focused on being angry with him for not agreeing with you that I don’t think you ever even heard them,” George tells him firmly, trying to calm him down.

Alex narrows his eyes. “He argues with me just to argue with me.”

“He argues with you because he has a different perspective. As do many of our citizens,” George tells him.

“You Virginia men always stick together, and  _ screw _ the rest of us!” Alex yelps, getting to his feet and slamming his hands onto the desk.

“Alexander.” Washington doesn’t say anything else, just his son’s name. Alex pants heavily, but doesn’t back down from his aggressive posture.

He’s surprised by a knock on the door. “George, Alex, can I come in?” It’s Martha.

“Of course,” George calls.

“I couldn’t help hearing the raised voices,” she says, bustling in. She takes in the papers on the desk- the obviously discarded letter and the lines. 

She also takes in Alex’s aggressive posture and heavy breathing, and George’s stern expression. “Alexander, please tell me what I heard wasn’t you yelling at your father,” she scolds.

He looks away, shifty. Martha puts her hands on her hips. “George, I know you need your Treasury Secretary. But right now, I think I need to send  _ our son _ to his room for a chat about manners and an early bedtime,” she decides.

That will neatly break the stalemate. And hopefully Martha will be able to get him to rest. George hadn’t wanted to deal with any of this tonight, anyway- he’d only attempted it because Alex couldn’t put the disagreement aside. Martha isn’t giving him a choice, now.

“Mama knows best,” he agrees.

She turns to Alex. “Now, tell your father goodnight and go get ready for bed,” she tells him sternly.

“It’s not even  _ supper _ time! I’m usually still at  _ work _ right now,” Alex argues.

Martha doesn’t debate with him, just reaches behind him and smartly pops him on the bottom. He jumps. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, dear,” she scolds.

“You two were the ones fussing about me not eating today, and now you’re sending me to bed without supper?” he tries next, whining at her.

“I never said that,” Martha assures him. “You’re going to go get ready for bed, I’m going to fix you a tray, and after you eat we’re going to have a conversation about how you talk to your father. Then you’re going to get some sleep, and everything will look better in the morning.”

“Mama M,” he pleads.

“You’re already getting a spanking, dear. Don’t make it worse,” she warns. “I asked you to go upstairs.”

They all knew what ‘conversation’ was a euphemism for, but hearing it stated plainly still makes Alex gulp. There are tears in his eyes when he says, “Mama M, please…”

She gently tilts his chin so he has no choice but to meet her eyes. “Alex, you are past the point where you can deal with this by yourself. Trying is just making things worse, isn’t it?” He glances away, but nods. “You aren’t alone, I’m going to take care of you. It will all look better in the morning,” she promises him. Alex nods, unable to speak, and turns toward the door.

George stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. The boy can’t meet his eyes, but George pulls him into a hard hug, kissing his hair. “You’re okay, son. Mama M will take good care of you. And I love you.”

Alex’s arms wrap around him hard for one brief squeeze in response to that reminder. “I love you, too, sir,” he mumbles into George’s coat, then makes a hasty retreat toward the stairs.

His ‘parents’ watch him go. “I hope I didn’t intrude at a bad time,” Martha says.

“I only brought him in here because he was too upset about being in trouble to rest. I thought we could deal with it, but he was too worked up, he couldn’t get himself under control,” George explains. “I’m very glad you stepped in.”

“He never does well with them gone, but Eliza told me at Sunday dinner last week he seemed particularly stressed already, and she was worried about leaving him,” Martha reveals. “I was glad you brought him home, so we can look after him.”

“I think his Mama M is exactly what he needs right now,” George agrees.

“Though he’s not going to be happy about getting a good long visit with my spoon,” Martha says. “But I think even that will help him feel better, in the long run.”

“You said it- he can’t handle his feelings alone right now. Whatever’s going on with him, he needs us to help make sense of it,” George agrees. He kisses his wife, squeezing her waist. “Now, I’ll stop monopolizing you and let you go look after our boy.”

***

Alex curls his knees up in front of him, sitting on his bed at the Washingtons’ and waiting for Mama M. He’s dressed for bed, waiting for her, and he can’t decide if he’s more dreading or desperate for her arrival. He doesn’t want the Washingtons to be disappointed in him, but he’s just felt so overwhelmed all week, and it’s a huge relief to turn things over to Mama M to sort out for a little while.

She knocks lightly on the door, and he gets up to open it for her. Mama M is balancing a tray, as promised. “Sit,” she tells him gently. “I brought you some soup and a sandwich, something light so we don’t shock your system. Have you eaten a proper meal since Eliza left?”

Alex looks away. “I don’t like eating alone,” he admits.

“Well, that’s not going to be a problem, because you are staying with us until either you can join them or they get back,” Mama M announces.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Alex hedges.

Martha pets his hair. “Having my son safe and sound under our roof is  _ not _ a bother. You know I get lonely with the grands gone, it’ll be nice to have you in the house.”

Alex tears up the corner of his sandwich. “Will Washington mind?” he asks uncertainly.

“He’s the one who brought you home, dear. He’s worried about you,” Martha assures him.

“He’s mad at me, Mama M. And he should be, I’m being an awful brat. I just can’t stop myself,” he confesses.

She strokes his cheek. “Sometimes it’s too much, being in charge of yourself, and taking care of your family, and helping your father at work, isn’t it? He relies on you so much, we all do. There’s no shame in needing help, sometimes.”

“I should be able to do it. Other people manage just fine,” Alex laments.

“No, everybody has people who help them when they’re at breaking point. Like when you see that your father’s overwhelmed, and you start answering his correspondence and just leaving it for him to sign. Or when Eliza wasn’t feeling well a few weeks ago, and you and I made soup and we kept Philip for a few days so you could take care of her. It’s just your turn to need help right now, sweetheart,” she assures him.

“I hate that I can manage everything else, but I can’t manage  _ me, _ Mama M. I was awful today, and the General had to apologize for my behavior to Madison, and then I wouldn’t even write an apology when he told me to… I knew I was wrong, I just didn’t like hearing it,” Alex confesses.

“Well, don’t worry. Mama’s going to sort it out, and you and your father can work on the apology tomorrow when you’re not so stressed. Your father will forgive you,” she tells him. “Now, eat up.”

Alex makes quick work of the soup and sandwich, and she’s brought him cocoa to drink with the food. It’s comforting, and he holds onto the warm mug after it’s empty, feeling nervous as he remembers what’s coming after he eats.

“I’m done,” he says quietly.

Mama M gently peels the empty mug out of his hands and sets it and the tray aside on the bedside table. “Good. Now, we have something we need to take care of, don’t we?”

Alex nods. He stands up, clenching his hands nervously. Mama M sits down on the side of the bed, and the wooden spoon suddenly appears- he’s not sure where she had it hidden. He’d hoped to get away with just a hand spanking, but he knows he deserves the spoon, so he doesn’t try to object.

Alex feels like crying, and they haven’t even gotten started. Mama M puts the spoon to the side for the moment, reaching for his hands. “Why am I going to spank you, sweetheart?” she asks.

“I yelled at the General. I keep being rude, and disrespectful,” he confesses, his throat tight.

“Yes, you were, and you know better,” she tells him sternly. “A sore bottom will help you remember your manners, tomorrow. And remember that I have no problem repeating this lesson as many times as you need this week, sweetheart. Either you’ll stop yourself, or I’ll help you.”

It sounds like a threat, but Alex is immeasurably comforted. He feels so out of control, but Mama M is here now, and she’s more than capable of managing him. “Thank you,” he whispers.

She touches his cheek. “My sweet boy,” she says. “Now, let’s get you over my knee and get your spanking done.”

Alex goes without complaint, breathing more deeply even as his stomach tightens with nerves. Mama M starts out spanking with her hand, which is never a good sign- she doesn’t spank him often, maybe once or twice a year. But if she thinks he needs a warm up, he knows he has a long, hard spanking coming.

Alex’s nightshirt may protect his modesty, but it does next to nothing to mute the sting of the spanking. Alex is supposed to have a high pain tolerance- somehow, that never matters over Mama M’s knee. Within minutes, he’s twisting and whining, trying to get his sore bottom out of the firing line. And she hasn’t even picked up the spoon yet.

“Mama M, owwww,” he cries, because it hurts, and it seems important that she knows that.

“I know, baby. But you were a very naughty boy. We’ve got a long way to go,” she warns regretfully, then tilts him somehow, so she can focus on the tender skin where he sits.

He loses his battle with tears quickly at that point, sobbing into the blankets and kicking in the hopes of reducing the sting. And still, Mama M slaps his sore bottom over and over again, no matter how hard he cries.

“No more, please, owww, it hurts so bad,” he cries.

“I know it does, baby,” she tells him gently. “Your bottom isn’t the only thing that hurts, though, is it?” she asks.

Alex shakes his head. He’s not sure what she means, but she’s right.

“A sore bottom is easier than carrying all that worry around, Alex, and so we aren’t even going to start your paddling until you let that go,” Mama M tells him.

Alex cries. She spanks his upper thighs, and he howls. The General is going to hear them- he’s going to know how weak Alex is. He’s going to find out Alex isn’t any good anyway. He sobs harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby,” Mama M says.

“He’s gonna find out,” Alex sobs brokenly.

“Find out what, sweet one?” she asks.

“I’m not… I can’t! I can’t do it all, there’s too much, with the Cabinet, and the Bank, and the General’s speeches, I can’t do all of this new stuff too, I can’t,” he cries.

“Alex, baby, no one expects you to run the whole government yourself,” she tells him.

“The General needs me,” Alex cries.

“He does, which means he needs you to take care of yourself and ask for help when you need it, baby. Not that he expects you to do everything on your own,” she insists.

He suddenly realizes she’s right. All of the tension goes out of him, and he sags into Mama M’s lap, sobbing. “Good boy. Very good, Alex,” she tells him, which makes him feel good.

She pauses the spanking, stroking his back for a moment. Then he feels the spoon rest on his aching cheeks and he whines.

“Shhh, don’t fuss,” Mama M tells him, patting his back. “You were very naughty, pushing yourself so hard and lashing out at your father instead of asking for help. I’m going to give you a nice, sore bottom, so you remember you aren’t on your own.”

“‘M already sore,” he whines, kicking his foot. “And it’s not  _ nice!” _

“Well, clearly we’re going to have to paddle that sass right out of you,” Mama M says. Alex cries. He’s not getting out of it. Mama M doesn’t care if his bottom is burning so bad he can’t stand it already, or that he’s a grown up Treasury Secretary with a family of his own. He was naughty, so now he has to face the spoon.

“Burying yourself in your work isn’t okay, or healthy,” Mama M tells him, snapping the spoon down on his sore cheeks. “You need to give yourself time to rest. And Eliza is trusting you to take care of yourself, while she’s gone. Your father is trusting you to ask for help when you need it.  _ And _ he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at by a stroppy brat, because you’re overwhelmed and not telling anyone.”

Alex sobs, absorbing the stinging blows and the equally sharp truths. “I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry,” he tells her.

“I know, sweet boy,” she assures him. “And tomorrow, your sore bottom is going to help you remember to ask for help. And if you  _ don’t _ take good care of my sweet boy, you’ll get another spanking when you get home.”

“Mama!” he whines. He doesn’t want more spankings.

“Then be good for me,” she says, implacable. And she keeps paddling.

It feels like his spanking is never going to stop. He cries and twists around on his mother’s lap, overwhelmed and sore and sorry but feeling very, very safe. There’s nothing in the world he has to worry about right now, except doing what Mama M says. She’s in charge. It’s freeing, even if it is blistering.

Finally, when he’s hoarse from crying, the spanking stops. He feels Mama M put down the spoon, but she doesn’t tell him he can get up yet, so he waits.

He whines when he feels her tug his nightshirt. She’s never spanked him bare before, other than one deeply embarrassing impromptu series of swats when he and John had gotten covered in mud, and she’d wound up helping Lafayette get them clean so they could go inside. He’d mouthed off at a vulnerable moment, and learned firsthand just how much spanks on bare, wet skin could sting.

“Shhh, be good for me,” she coaxes. “I’m just checking your poor bottom. No more spanks unless you fuss.”

He tries to keep himself still, but that only lasts as long as it takes for Mama M to prod an especially tender spot. Then, he kicks, twisting his hips, and cries, “No!”

“I warned you about fussing,” Mama M says, and gives him a spank right on the spot where cheek meets thigh. He cries, feeling sorry for himself, as she gives him a half dozen sore, stinging bare bottom spanks. “Are you done, now, or do you need more?” Mama M asks.

“Done, done, please, Mama, I’m sorry,” he cries.

“Then let’s have no more fussing,” she tells him. She pats his sore cheeks meaningfully. “I don’t think you’re going to bruise, really. But I’m afraid it’s going to be very hard to sit on your sore bottom tomorrow, little one. I hope that helps you remember to be good for your father.”

Alex continues crying. “I’m also going to tell George that if you earn any time in the corner, I expect you to do it sitting on a hard chair. Is that understood? Flat on your sore bottom,” she warns.

Alex sobs. “I’ll be good,” he promises her.

“You’ll do your best.” Mama M pats his bottom, making him squirm, before lowering his nightshirt. “And if you have a hard time, your father and I will help you. You aren’t on your own,” she promises.

Alex feels immeasurably comforted by that knowledge. Mama M helps him sit up, shifting them both so that she’s sitting up against the headboard and he can curl up with his head in her lap. She pets him gently, murmuring reassurances.

Eventually, she says, “I think somebody’s getting sleepy.”

“I want to tell the General I’m sorry,” Alex says. “I need to be sure he knows.”

Mama M doesn’t try to coax him to wait until tomorrow, she just nods. “I’m going to go get you a snack, in case you wake up in the night hungry. You haven’t been eating enough, so we need to make sure you’ve got something to nibble on. I’ll send your father up to keep you company in the meantime. Now, you just get under the covers,” she says.

Alex gets up so she can, hissing when his sore bottom settles on the bed briefly as he stands. Sitting at his desk tomorrow is going to be torture. He rearranges the blankets he’d messed up, sliding under them on his stomach. He’s just gotten settled when the General walks in.

He goes to stand, but his mentor waves him down. “Your mother said you needed me?” he asks gently.

No recriminations, or scolding, just, ‘What do you need?’ He thinks he might cry, all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ve been awful.”

“You’re forgiven, son. Did Mama help you sort things out?” the General asks, coming to sit at the edge of his bed.

Alex nods, feeling the General stroke his hair. “That’s good,” Washington tells him. “You’re never alone. We’re right here when you need us,” he assures Alex. who shifts to lean against him. Washington swings his legs up onto the bed, opening his arms wide. Alex snuggles into him, relieved to be forgiven.

Somehow, the General never makes it to bed. Alex wakes up in the night to discover Mama M has left him cookies and milk, and that he’s sleeping in Washington’s arms. Mama M tucked a blanket around them, at least. He has a cookie. Tapping the General. He’ll wake up with a neck ache, if he sleeps all night like this.

“What?” Washington says, blinking. “Alex?”

“You’re sleeping sitting up,” Alex tells him.

“Ah,” the General says, shifting enough to slide under the blankets before pulling Alex back to his chest. “Sleep. I’ve got you,” his father tells him.

Alex almost laughs- he’d meant to make sure the General got to bed. But he’s warm and safe and secure in his father’s arms, and if Washington isn’t going to wake up enough to go to his own room, he’s not going to complain.

***   
Martha makes sure both of her statesmen have a good breakfast before sending them off to work. She thinks it’s absolutely adorable that George fell asleep snuggling Alexander last night, and the boy is moving carefully today but looking much better rested and far less  _ hunted. _

She sends them off to work with lunches packed and snacks, reminding them, “Now, Alexander, you need to stop and eat.”

“Yes, Mama M,” he says, kissing her cheek as he takes his lunch.

“And what did I say about today?” she asks him sternly.

“I need to ask for help. And especially not yell at people because I didn’t,” Alex says.

“Very good. And I know you’re going to be good today, but if you have trouble…” she reminds him.

“If the General has to put me in the corner I have to sit, even though it hurts,” he says, blushing. George nods, accepting the instruction. Alex rubs his bottom self consciously. She can well believe he’s still sore, poor thing. She’d noticed him sitting on his ankle at breakfast.

“Ask your father, if you feel overwhelmed or out of control,” she reminds him gently. “We’re here to take care of you when you need us.”

Alex nods. “I do feel a lot better today, Mama M,” he assures her.

“I’m very glad. And you’re coming home with George tonight, regardless. It’s about time we started getting the house decorated,” she tells him.

Alex likes that- not just that he’s expected at home, but that they’re going to get ready for Christmas. And she wants to make sure the house is properly decorated. Martha talked to Ben, just yesterday, and he said it looks like a bad storm is coming. She knows the plan was for Alex to work until Christmas Eve, then ride up that evening to join his family for Christmas morning. Alex won’t be able to make it upstate after work tomorrow, if it’s as bad as Franklin expects. She wants to make sure they still have a good Christmas, here at home.

With that in mind, she spends the day making cider and preparing cocoa, as well as working on pies and George’s favorite whiskey cake. She pops plenty of popcorn for garland, but waits so Alex can help her with the ornament dough.

The men roll in before sunset, red cheeked from the cold. They’re both in good spirits, and George quietly assures her that Alex had a much better day. Then she sends them right back out. “It’s going to snow, and  _ if _ the weather is safe for travel tomorrow, Alex will need to get going right after work. And we still don’t have a tree,” she reminds them.

Alex looks at the sky. “I’m not going to make it upstate, am I?” he asks.

“I’d rather you didn’t risk it,” George says carefully.

That would’ve set Alex off, yesterday. Today, he frowns, but nods. “It won’t do Philip and Betsy any good for me to get lost in a snowdrift. They’re warm and safe with Mr. Schuyler, and I’m warm and safe here with you. I’ll see them in a few days,” he agrees.

Martha kisses his cheek. “I’m very proud of you for recognizing that,” she says.

He blushes. “You’d remind me, if I didn’t,” he says.

She pats his cheek. “Now, you two go get me a Christmas tree. There’s a man selling them in the square a few blocks south, you don’t even have to cut it down yourselves,” she tells them.

Alex groans. “Mama! That’s half the fun!”

George laughs. “Yeah, Mama M, what’s the point if Alex doesn’t get to destroy something?”

“The point is that we are going to string garlands and drink cocoa, and tomorrow we’re making ornaments, and we are going to have a nice, safe, warm Christmas right here. Which means we need a tree,” she tells them. “Now go, you two!”

They bring back a lovely tree, though she wonders how it has any needles left, as many as are in Alex’s hair. “He balanced it on his head,” George reports.

“For a second! So I didn’t drop it!” Ale says, laughing.

“Well, you’re a mess. Let’s get it in the stand and get you cleaned up,” Martha says, clucking fondly.

They set the tree up and Alex goes upstairs to change and brush the needles out of his hair. George kisses her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“He’s much better today, even if he is moving carefully,” he observes.

“He was so overwhelmed he was frozen. Every little thing was the end of the world, because he had too much on his plate and he didn’t know how to ask for help,” Martha explains.

“Luckily, his amazing mother got that sorted out. And it turns out Adams dumped a project I’d asked him to handle in Alex’s lap, and that’s part of why he was so stressed. We lobbed that back to the Vice President’s desk, and he’s got a little more breathing room. I offered to write my own New Years speech, but he wants to do it,” George reports.

“He likes that you trust him, to write for you,” Martha agrees.

“Thank you for taking such good care of him. And of both of us- I hadn’t even thought that we hadn’t started decorating yet,” George says. “Well, the formal stuff is done, obviously.”

“It’s harder to get excited about the smaller things, without any of our family. I’m sorry he’ll miss Eliza and Philip, but it is so nice to have him home,” she says.

“Easier to string the garland, though,” George teases. “Did you make enough popcorn?”

“Twice as much as we need,” she reports, chuckling. “George? Is it selfish to be glad he’s here with us?”

He shakes his head. “No, love. Christmas is hard, sending the grands off with their mother and only getting Alex and his family every other year. I’m sorry we can’t go back to Mount Vernon. At least there, you’d have your friends and our old traditions.”

“You need to be here,” she acknowledges. “And some traditions work wherever we are- like my boys bringing me our tree!” she teases.

“Do you remember that first year? At the camp? I thought you were crazy, sending me and Alexander out for a Christmas tree, during a war. But you were right- you did what you always do. You made a warm place for all of us to come back, no matter how cold things got outside,” he says, hugging her. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate that?”

“You tell me every day, but it never hurts to hear the words,” Martha tells him, blushing. She knows her husband appreciates her. It’s still nice, though, after all of these years, to hear it.

Finally, Alex comes back downstairs, and they settle in the family room, stringing popcorn and cranberries for their garland. Alex amuses himself throwing the popcorn and trying to catch it in his mouth, and he actually gets his father to toss some for him- and even try to catch it! George, naturally, catches a piece first try. Alex’s jaw hangs open in shock.

“Hey, when you’re good, you’re good,” his father teases, mussing his hair. “Now, what do you say we actually string some of this stuff?”

They get the garlands made, draping them across the tree, and make plans for Christmas Eve. Alex needs to go back to his house for their presents, and Martha has decided she’d like mulled wine instead of punch. Christmas is on a Wednesday, so all of the parties were last weekend, and they can just stay home and enjoy the day together.

Eventually, they find themselves curled up on the couch with cups of cider, Alex leaning against his father’s shoulder with his feet in Martha’s lap. “I love you guys,” he says softly.

“We love you too, son,” George tells him.

“I’m glad I got to come home,” Alex says muzzily, falling asleep.

Martha wraps a warm hand around his ankle. “And we’re always glad to have you here, dear.”

Later, George will rouse Alex a little and help him to bed. Martha will clear away the cider mugs and make sure George actually makes it to  _ their _ bed, tonight. Tomorrow, she’ll box up the Christmas cookies and take them around to all of the Secretaries’ wives, and other important families who've stayed in town over Christmas.

Then, she’ll come home, and Alex will somehow manage to destroy her entire kitchen making ginger ornaments. They’ll hang any they manage not to eat onto the tree, and put the presents underneath. She’ll pick up a few things for Alex’s stocking while she’s out tomorrow, since he loves the silly tradition, even if he claims to be far too old. And the next day, she’ll get to have Christmas with her family. She can’t imagine anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, and what stories from advent you'd like to see get the Twelve Days of Followup treatment!


	22. John/Alex, Fresh Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes Alex up, excited about the snow.
> 
> Genre: FEELINGS! Maybe emotional hurt/comfort?
> 
> See end chapter notes for warnings of content that might be upsetting or triggering.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” John says, bouncing on top of Alex.

He rolls over, awake whether he wants to be or not, but he feels the chill of the room and pulls the blanket over his head. “Come back to bed, it’s too cold,” he complains.

John pulls the covers off of him. “It  _ snowed. _ Come on,” John announces.

Alex groans. They’re both from places that don’t have much snow, but their responses to winter further North couldn’t be more different. Alex wants to hibernate, and has seriously considered trying to get Washington to send him to Georgia, where it might be warmer. John is absolutely  _ obsessed _ with snow. This isn’t the first time it has snowed this winter, but that doesn’t lessen John’s enthusiasm. He always wants to get out into it when it’s fresh, before people have trampled the soft, cold powder.

Alex would  _ like _ to roll over in bed and pretend to go back to sleep. But he loves John, and really, the other man doesn’t ask for much. He can indulge him on this. He sits up.

“Yessss! Come on, come on, hurry up, before somebody comes along and messes it up!” John is already fully dressed, minus gloves and hat which are sitting nearby, and now he’s determinedly speeding Alex along. He  _ has _ set Alex’s clothes out in front of the fire, apparently, because they’re warm, and he kisses his partner gratefully when he feels it.

John starts out just handing him clothes, but Alex isn’t dressing quickly enough for him- which seems ridiculous, the room is freezing, Alex wants his clothes on as quickly as possible- so he starts helping. He shoves Alex to sit on the bed as he puts on his shirt, pulling his hose on for him, then yanks him up so that he can force Alex into his breeches and boots as Alex works on his waistcoat and cravat. Between them, Alex is fully dressed in a few minutes.

John jams Alex’s soft knitted hat- a gift from Hercules, who is all the way back in New York- on his head, kissing him before wrapping a scarf around him so that his face is barely visible. Alex laughs. “Okay, okay, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, let’s go play in the snow, you overgrown child!” he teases.

John grabs his hand and drags him out the door, barely pausing to call good morning to Martha, who is in the sitting room already, sipping coffee. She laughs, waving at them. “Have fun, boys. At least I assume that’s Alexander under all of those layers, John?”

“It’s me, Mama M!” Alex assures her, still being dragged out the door. “If we aren’t back in an hour, send a search party!”

Mama M laughs, and John finally succeeds in getting him outside. Alex has to admit, the snow is beautiful. It covers the camp and makes the dingy, dirty home of so many soldiers seem just a little bit special- frosted, beautiful, not just the dirty reality of day to day life. It will be churned up by footsteps and brushed off of tents later, but for now, this early in the morning, the camp is mostly quiet, and the snow blankets the area beautifully.

“C’mon, walk with me,” John requests, and they set off for the training fields and the small thicket of trees in the distance, gloved hands clasped. Even through so many layers, Alex feels the warmth of having John at his side.

“It really is pretty,” he tells his lover, looking around.

“It is.” John looks up at the sky. “And I’m hoping if we’re lucky, we might even get a little more!”

Alex holds back a groan. Snow  _ actively falling _ on them will be worse than just walking through it, from a freezing perspective. But it does make John so happy. Luckily, his cold weather gear coves his own distaste.

John touches a small tree wonderingly as they pass it, pressing a finger gently to the tip of an icicle. “It’s like magic,” he says, spinning to take it all in.

The light catches the icicles and sparkles in the cold, early morning air. But the sparkle that catches Alex’s gaze is the one in John’s eyes, so full of simple joy. It’s been a dark time, lately. Anything that makes them happy is well worth enjoying.

“It is magic,” he agrees. It would have to be, to replace the stern, stressed look John wears most days, lately, so concerned with the troops and his plans for the African American battalion as the war drags on. Alex knows he wears his own stress just as plainly. They all do. With Laf all the way off in France, it’s up to he and John to comfort each other as best they can.

Hopefully, Laf will make it back with reinforcements. Hopefully, this damned winter will end and they can put an end to the war, and get Hercules back out of New York. But those hopes are hard to remember, in the dark- literally and metaphorically- winter evenings. For now, at least, they have snow, washing things in brightness and making it all feel a little less bleak.

With that in mind, Alex squeezes John’s hand, leaning his head on his shoulder. “What do you want to do?” he asks.

John hesitates. “Is it okay if I just want to… sit out here for a while? I don’t want to mess it up, today,” he says. Their usual snowball fights and snow angels do leave a mark on their environment, for sure.

“I’ll stick with you as long as I can stand the cold,” Alex promises.

There’s a fallen log not too far from where they’ve stopped, right at the edge of the trees. They wander over to it, and John brushes it dry. Then they sit, looking out onto the snow. Alex tilts his head, looking at John. He’s gotten quiet, and still. John is usually such a force of nature, it’s rare to see him like this. Usually, when he’s in this mood, the others are around. Hercules tends to get very protective of John when he’s quiet, and Alex wishes desperately he were here now. He doesn’t feel qualified to take care of John.

He can try, though, so he lets go of John’s hand for a moment and throws his leg over the log. Then, he tugs his lover back to lean against his chest, kissing John’s temple.

“You don’t have to. I’m fine.” John’s voice sounds small.

“Hush, you’re keeping me warm,” Alex assures him. John is more than happy to snuggle, with that flimsy excuse, and nuzzles the side of his face against Alex’s chest as he gets comfy. Alex isn’t Dominant in the bedroom, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take care of the people he loves.

Mama M does it, after all. She’s a sub, and she manages them all, including the General, and takes care of her family. He can take care of John, by trying to think of what she would do.

For now, he decides that means just holding him. Mama M is a big fan of cuddles. Alex is still struggling to adjust to all of the people in his life who just want to hold him, because it feels nice. Not because they want something more, or because they’re trying to restrain or hurt him. Just to be close.

As it gets colder, Alex unbuttons his coat, pulling John into it with him. John hums happily, fidgeting with one of the buttons as he stares out at the snow. Gradually, his gaze drifts towards camp- most of the men aren’t up, yet, so it still looks picturesque. Still, Alex feels John tense slightly.

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly. Hercules would know the right question, to effortlessly lead John to whatever he needs to talk about. John would know how to barrel down the doors to whatever Alex wasn’t sure how to share, if the roles were reversed. Laf would snark and tease around it, or suddenly tell an extremely relevant story, and either way create a chance to share. Alex is doing his best, though.

“It’s nice, like this. Like it’s okay,” John says.

Alex nods. “It softens out the edges,” he agrees.

“How many of those men do you think will be dead, this time next year?” John asks. “How many of them will have been in battalions  _ we _ sent somewhere, and not come back?”

“How many of them will still be alive, because of one of your crazy ideas? Because you knew just how to have them approach, to surprise the British? Or because you saw something in some tiny bit of gossip Herc passed on, that the rest of us missed?” Alex counters.

“I want the battalion. But I’m asking them to risk their lives. To die, for their freedom,” John says.

“You’re giving them a chance to live- and die, if it comes to it- for themselves. Instead of for somebody else. John, on Nevis, I was theoretically ‘safe’. But I didn’t have a  _ say _ in my own life. I had no autonomy, if I wanted to survive. I could starve on the street for pride, but if I wanted to eat, or have somewhere to live, I had to work for someone who could do whatever they wanted to me, or make me do anything they felt like. It’s not the same- I didn’t have it nearly as bad. I could quit, I could disappear, something. But I felt trapped. And I would trade fighting this war for that a thousand times over. Just like every man in those tents, like every soldier you’re hoping to recruit,  _ I got to make that choice. _ I don’t think you truly know how much that means,” Alex explains. He hopes he’s making sense. He hopes he’s not misreading John’s current worries, or making them about his own experiences. But he thinks John should know.

“I used to think I didn’t have choices. I had to learn all of these things, with my tutors, be a certain kind of gentleman… but when I told Dad I wanted to stay in New York, to go to school, to be an aide instead of leading my own men back home… I’ve always gotten to be who and what I want to be, as long as I do it with decency. You’re right, I hadn’t thought about what a gift that is,” John admits.

“That’s what they’re dying for. What we’re dying for, if it happens. Not amorphous ideas, or the pride of commanders who sometimes make foolish mistakes. The chance to be our own men. To build something worth being part of, that no one can take from us,” Alex tells him.

“As long as it isn’t you,” John says quietly. Alex pauses, not sure what he means. “Any of the rest of us. Just… I don’t know how I’d survive losing you.”

They had a scare, a few weeks ago. A scouting party had almost clipped Alex coming back from a meeting with a commander further south, and he’d fallen off of his horse in the process. He’d cut himself on a branch or something in the fall, and John had been frozen, staring at his blood in the snow, as the men returned fire. It had turned out to be two Brits on their own, with no horses and few supplies, and they’d taken them easily and buried them in the snow before continuing. John had been quiet, that day too.

Alex thinks he understands, now. “You’d survive because I’d need you to,” Alex tells him. “Even if I’m gone, one day… I need to know you’re okay. I need to not be the thing that destroys you. I’ll be watching you, and loving you, even if I’m gone.”

“Me, too, Alex,” John says softly. “If something happens to me… know I was glad to be here. Know it was worth it, to fight this battle. And especially to fight it with you.”

John twists up in Alex’s arms to kiss him, and he kisses the other man back. No wonder John wanted peace and stillness today, not snowball fights. Wanted the whiteness to remain pristine.

There’s one thing the war, the cold, the British can’t touch though. “I love you, John Laurens,” Alex says, reminding him. Giving him that anchor, in the cold, in the uncertainty.

“And I love you, Alexander Hamilton,” John says back. They kiss again, soft and slow, and when Alex leans back to see John’s face, a snowflake lands on his cheek.

“It’s snowing again,” Alex says, and for once it’s with wonder, not resentment. He can deal with the cold, for John’s sake.

They sit and watch the flakes fall for a long time, until Alex can’t contain his shivers anymore. “Let’s get you back to the fire,” John says, standing and offering Alex a hand. He sounds more like his usual self, the moment of vulnerability past. Alex hopes he helped.

“I’d-d l-l-like th-that,” Alex agrees, his teeth chattering as he tries to speak. He tries to button his coat back up, but his cold fingers struggles and John takes over, fastening the coat and readjusting his scarf to cover his mouth and nose.

They hold hands as they walk back to the house they use as headquarters, The men are beginning to get up and wander the camp, and they nod greetings and wave hellos as they go. Inside, they unwrap each other from their outerwear and curl up in front of the fire, smiling their thanks when Mama M appears with coffee. They’ll get back to work soon. For now, it’s nice to just have a little warmth, in the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> There is some discussion of death. Nobody dies, but the boys get a little introspective in the snow. I didn't want to blindside/upset anyone!
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! And we're in the home stretch with these fics, so PRETTY PLEASE shoot me a comment with which, if any, of these you'd like to see "follow up" to, after Christmas! I'm having so much fun with all of these stories!


	23. TJeffs/Mads/Ham + Gift (some discussion of D/s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex loses a bet. Jefferson schemes on how to get the most out of it.
> 
> Genre: Pre-threesome, kink negotiation, enemies to almost friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't come out how I expected it to, but it was fun to write!  
> It is definitely, 100% AU of the D/s Verse. Jefferson and Alex have NEVER HAD THESE CONVERSATIONS in the main timeline. Basically, any prompt that leads to flirtation or more with the three of them is SUPER AU.

Alex is never drinking again. At least not with the rest of the Cabinet. He wakes up with a pounding headache, slumped sideways across his bed at Washington’s.

That’s bad enough. It’s infinitely worse when Jefferson sits up beside him.

Alex’s brain short circuits in panic for a moment before he processes a series of realizations: They’re both fully dressed, Jefferson is laying in the opposite direction on the bed, and Thomas’ groan actually sounds worse than he feels.

“What happened?” Jefferson asks, holding his head.

Alex thinks back. “There weren’t enough guest rooms. You didn’t want to share with Madison and Clinton. So for some reason, you’re here.”

“Well, it’s not fair for you to get your own room,” Jefferson argues.

“Except that this is actually my room. I have clothes in the closet. That’s my hairbrush on the dresser,” Alex tells him crabbily. “I bet nobody climbed into bed with Washington.”

Jefferson stares at him for a moment, processing. “I forget about you and Washington,” he says with another slow nod.

“Good. I’d rather everyone did.” Jefferson raises his eyebrows. “Not- not that I’m not grateful for everything he’s done for me. And I love him and Mama M, of course. But I want to make my name for myself, not as Washington’s son,” Alex explains awkwardly.

“Speaking of things we’d rather people not know… I didn’t say anything about  _ why _ I wanted to sleep in here, did I?” Jefferson asks.

“You mean did you finally declare your secret love for me?” Alex jokes. “Only four or five times. It got repetitive, honestly. I know I’m irresistible, Thomas, but have some pride.”

Jefferson laughs, but he still looks a little uncertain. Alex decides to put him out of his misery. “You didn’t say anything about worrying about keeping it clean with Madison, don’t worry,” he assures the other man.

“What?” Jefferson jumps off the bed, staring at him.

Alex grabs his head. “Freak out quietly, please. You did not say anything that in any way implied you were too drunk to sleep beside your Dom and not do something Clinton was going to find suspicious, don’t worry,” he reiterates.

Jefferson straightens himself out stiffly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Drop it, Thomas. You’re a sub. I’m a sub. We’re both lying about it. Isn’t that why you wanted to sleep in here? Because I’m the only other person who was at that party with absolutely no Dominant tendencies and was therefore the safest bet?” Alex asks.

“You’re a sub.” Jefferson sounds shocked.

“You didn’t know?” Alex asks. “Washington told me about you. He knew we’d butt heads, and he didn’t want my ‘egotistical Doms’ schtick adding to the conflict. I figured he’d have told you about me. And if not him, I really thought Madison knew- Betsy and Dolley talk about  _ everything.” _

“I had no idea,” Jefferson says slowly. “That… explains so much.”

Alex bristles.

“Not like that!” Jefferson tells him. “I’m not  _ judging you for being a sub,  _ you idiot. I’m a sub.”

That actually makes Alex feel better. “Okay, fine. Here’s a thought: Let’s just pretend none of this ever happened, and go back to our regularly scheduled animosity.”

Jefferson gives him a doubtful look. “How will I ever forget spending the night with you, Alexander? I don’t know how I’ll live without you.”

Alex groans, flopping back onto the bed. “I am sleeping. Go home. Leave me to my hangover in peace.”

“Ugh,” Jefferson groans. “I can’t let you sleep in your  _ shoes. _ Sit up.”

Jefferson actually tries to help him out of his jacket. Alex bats him away. “I’m not actually helpless! Go! I’ll change before I get back to sleep, and if you don’t want a show, you should get out, now.”

“Who said I didn’t want a show?” Jefferson teases. But he does, thankfully, finally leave Alexander alone. Alex even manages to finish getting undressed before worming his way under the blankets and going back to sleep.

***

Thomas finds James, Clinton, and Knox in the breakfast room, drinking hot toddies and looking worse for the wear. “Morning,” Knox says. James raises his glass in greeting.

“Hair of the dog? Is that wise?” Thomas asks.

“It’s happening,” James tells him, which is a fair point.

“Where’s Rudolph?” Tom asks next.

“He went home,” Clinton tells him. “What about Hamilton?”

“Sleeping. As, I presume, are the Washingtons,” Thomas says. He fixes himself a tea  _ without _ scotch. He’s had enough to drink. Waking up in bed with  _ Alexander Hamilton _ was sobering, whatever the circumstances.

“Martha came down and made sure we all had everything we needed this morning. Then I think she went to take care of George,” Knox says.

Thomas finishes his tea, then says, “I think I’m going to head home. Gentlemen,” he says, nodding.

James finishes his mug, staring at it. “I’m done,” he says slowly.

“Let’s get you home, too,” Thomas says, taking James’ mug and setting it aside. “Dolley will think you drowned in a whiskey bottle.”

“I might have,” James tells him slowly. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Yeah, you’re done,” Thomas decides, helping his Dom stand and leading him out.

Once they’re outside, James leans against him. “You get any sleep?” he asks solicitously.

“I slept fine. Did you know Hamilton’s a sub?” Thomas says suddenly.

James nods. “I did. How did you find out? Oh my God. Did you proposition him? Please tell me I didn’t miss you propositioning Hamilton. I want to be there for that, you two definitely need me if you’re going to make that work.”

Thomas stares at his Dom. “You’ve thought about… all three of us?”

James nods. “Why not? We’ve had threesomes before. Alex is hot. You’re both so passionate, I’d love to see you turn that on each other, instead of turning on each other,” he says.

Once the idea has been put into his head, Thomas can’t stop thinking about it. He returns James to Dolley, with his sincerest apologies, then walks home.

He’s undressing for bed when he finds an unexpected piece of parchment jammed into his waistcoat. “What the hell?” he murmurs, pulling out the crumpled sheet.

“Anything you want. Six hours. I’m yours. -A Ham” it reads.

Thomas stares, wide eyed, at the sheet. Slowly, a memory comes back.

They’d been playing strip poker. He and Alex had of course outlasted the rest- everyone else had dropped out of the game while still in their stockings and underthings. Washington had already gone to bed by that time, he remembers. There’s no way the President would’ve allowed what happened- because neither Jefferson nor Hamilton would give in, and Hamilton had wound up down to his underwear when the hand came up.

Hamilton had been red faced but determined. He’d had a bad hand and lost, losing the underwear. But by then, Thomas had been dressed in only the same. Alex had wanted to get his own back, and had tried to ante in for one last hand with cash.

“I don’t need your money,” Tom had told him. In truth, he hadn’t been entirely sure he was unmarked, and there was no way he was going to risk showing  _ that _ to the rest of the Cabinet.

“What  _ do _ you want? Anything,” Alex had insisted.

James had looked intrigued, and so Tom had thrown caution to the wind and said, “I’ll take that. One day. Whatever I want, to be determined later.”

Alex had scoffed. “An hour.”

“Twelve,” Thomas had countered.

“Six,” was Alex’s next offer. Tom decided it was good enough, and they’d shaken on it.

Thomas wound up with a flush, to Alex’s pair of twos. The Treasury Secretary had scrawled the note, then admitted he really was bested and gotten dressed without a shred of self consciousness. Thomas envies that- he knows he’s got a good body, but he never could’ve strutted around a room full of Doms nude as fearlessly as Alex did.

Of course, no one in the room had known that Alex  _ wasn’t _ a particularly Dominant switch. Except, apparently, James. Who wants to have a threesome, and had looked so intrigued by Alex’s last bet. It’s something to think about later, certainly, when he’s less hung over.

That’s Thomas’ last thought before he falls into an exhausted sleep.

***

When Tom wakes up, mid afternoon, he takes stock. It’s Dolley’s day with James, so his Dom isn’t expecting him. Absolutely no Cabinet business, official or otherwise, is happening after yesterday. He’s gathering up the clothes he scattered about when he got home when he finds Hamilton’s note, and remembers he’d thought he should do something interesting with it.

He gets dressed and heads for Hamilton’s.

Eliza Hamilton receives him with concern. “Is everything alright? Alex just got back, but I don’t think he was expecting you,” she says.

“He wasn’t,” Jefferson assures her. “This is a surprise visit. A social one, I suppose. Nothing Cabinet related, at least. If he has time, I’d like to see him.”

“I’ll let him know,” she says uncertainly.

He’s expecting to be led to Hamilton’s office, but instead the other man joins him in the parlor, closing the doors behind him.

“Secretary Jefferson, what can I do for you?” Alex asks, looking more out of place fully dressed in his own parlor mid afternoon than he had drunk and naked at the poker game last night. Thomas feels slightly guilty, that he makes the other man so uncomfortable.

“I’m not actually dangerous, you know. I rarely bite, and even then only when you ask nicely,” Jefferson assures him.

Alex bristles, pulling himself to stand taller. “That makes one of us,” he says with venom.

“Oh, stop. I’m not here to fight you,” Thomas says, annoyed.

“Then why  _ are _ you here?” Alex asks, looking wary.

Thomas pulls the note out of his pocket. Alex looks at it, closing his eyes as it sinks in what he’s reading. He bites his lip, taking a deep breath. “This is about the vote next week, isn’t it?” he asks, head bowed and voice tight with resignation.

Thomas recoils. “No,” he says vehemently. “I would never- How can you even think- We’ll win because we’re  _ right, _ not because I blackmailed you.”

Alex looks up, regarding him suspiciously. “Then why are you here?”

Jefferson ignores him for a moment, getting himself a whiskey. “Help yourself,” Alex says sarcastically.

“Oh, I am. I came here to… do you actually think I’d  _ force _ you to vote with me? Seriously?” Thomas asks. “Alexander, you  _ cannot _ put yourself in compromising positions with people you trust that little!” he insists sternly.

Alex stares at him. Thomas sighs, and pours a second drink for the other man. Alex takes it with an automatic, “Thank you.” Then he says, “Wait, are you  _ scolding me _ for giving  _ you _ the chance to screw me over?” he demands.

Thomas considers it. “Yes. You can’t leave yourself vulnerable like that. If you had any doubts about what I’d use that for, that I’d compromise you, you never should’ve given it to me.”

“I wanted to win,” Alex grumbles.

“I noticed. The problem is you’re lousy at poker. Don’t try to gamble with the Treasury, or we’ll go broke,” Jefferson advises him.

“Then what are you doing here?” Alex asks, staring into his glass.

Jefferson flops onto the other man’s settee. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, if that’s what you really think of me,” he says.

“Oh, poor baby, did I hurt your feelings?” Alex asks, sitting on the arm of the armchair. Determined to keep himself physically above Thomas for whatever’s coming. It’s telling.

“Yes, actually,” Thomas tells him. “We’re political rivals. I didn’t realize you thought I was some kind of monster.”

Alex shrugs. “Sorry. You’re basically the anti-me, right?”

“Ideologically. I’m not the black hat to your white hat. I’m actually trying to do what’s best for the country, the way I see it. As, I assume, are you,” Jefferson explains.

“Okay, I admit it’s irrational. But you can’t seriously be telling me you ever stopped to entertain the idea that I’m anything but scum,” Alex insists.

“Lafayette talked about you a lot,” Jefferson says by way of explanation.

“He’s written me about you more than a few times,” Alex admits. “I’m just… obstinate. The more Laf and the General insist you’re not evil, the more convinced I become you’re evil.”

Jefferson laughs. “At least you’re aware of your own shortcomings,” he says.

“It’s something,” Alex says, saluting with his glass. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

“I mean, I don’t actually think you, specifically, are evil. I’m just used to the world shitting on me,” Alex volunteers.

“So optimistic,” Jefferson says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hamilton sits forward, clutching his glass between his knees. “So, I’m curious now. What were you planning?” he asks.

Jefferson decides to just tell him. Either he’ll be up for it, or he’ll be shocked. Either way, it’ll be entertaining. “James thinks you’re hot,” he reveals.

Alex stares at him. “What do you get the man who’s already got everything?” Tom says with a sigh. “I thought he might like a threesome for Christmas.”

Alex bursts out laughing, so hard he falls off of the arm of the chair. “Oh my God, you-” He’s laughing too hard to finish the thought.

“Well, that’s just rude,” Thomas says.

Alex sits up, wiping his face. “Wait,” he says slowly, “You’re serious? You’d let me  _ anywhere near _ your Dom in bed?”

“It’s not like I feel threatened,” Thomas says with a shrug. “James and I have shared partners before. You’re not bad looking, and there’s something to be said for the way we compete- I think that could be fun, in bed.”

Hamilton is looking steadily more intrigued. “You are actually considering this.”

“I was, until I found out you’re all but  _ afraid _ of me,” Jefferson says.

“I’m not scared of you. I’ll do it,” Alex says, standing up and draining his glass.

“Sit down,” Thomas says, waving at him. “We aren’t doing it right now. And I’m not going to have sex with you so you can prove you’re not scared of me. Having my partner struggle to endure the encounter isn’t actually a turn on for me.”

Alex sits. “I’m not just proving a point,” he insists.

“Do you actually want to do this?” Jefferson asks seriously. “Remember what I said about making yourself vulnerable. If any part of you thinks we’ll use this against you, you need to say no,” he coaches.

“I’m in kind of an odd position, here,” Alex admits. “I don’t have a Dom. Even a secret one. And I can’t exactly go out and meet people, or have casual encounters. Discretion is very important to me. It’s… been a while.”

Thomas considers this. “James and I are discrete,” he agrees. “And it would be as damaging for me as for you, if it came out.”

“And he wouldn’t hurt you, just to get at me,” Alex says.

“He wouldn’t hurt you with this at all. James is big on taking good care of people who sub for him. You’d be totally safe,” Thomas promises. “Then and afterwards. We’d never use any of it against you. Even in little ways. I wouldn’t make sly remarks, James wouldn’t start trying to order you around.”

Alex thinks about it. “I’m a wildcard for you guys, too. Do you feel safe letting me that close?”

“Honestly, I was thinking about how much James wants this, at first. But… I’ve always respected you. And honestly, I don’t sub for anybody but James. So our other partners have been subs. And they’re all these wilting things. I suppose it’s got something to do with how careful we are, we only wind up with very traditional subs for thirds. I like the idea of you. I’m intrigued. It might be fun,” he admits.

“That doesn’t answer whether you trust me that much,” Hamilton points out.

“You’re right. Mutually assured destruction isn’t going to be any fun for anyone,” Thomas agrees. “You’re spiteful, and petty, but I don’t actually think you’re that malicious,” he muses.

“Well that’s a glowing endorsement,” Hamilton snorts.

“I’m not going to start lying to you  _ now,” _ Jefferson scoffs.

“So you don’t trust me that much.” Hamilton actually looks disappointed.

“If you promised me nothing that happened between us personally would leave the circle of the three of us, I’d believe you,” Thomas decides.

“Can we expand that to wives? If I drop after, I’d like Eliza to know what’s going on,” Alex negotiates.

“James isn’t going to let you leave until he’s sure you’re okay. And he will absolutely expect you to come to him if you think you’re dropping afterwards,” Tom warns him.

“That’s fair. That’s… about what I’d expect from Madison, honestly. He always was overprotective,” Alex admits.

“I forget you two used to be writing partners. Did you ever…” Thomas lets the question hang.

“No. I tried really hard not to let anyone realize I was submissive. I mean, I still do. But to be perfectly honest, I think he caught on early on. He was… protective, but he was careful. Not to order me around, even casually. To make sure he respected my boundaries,” Alex admits.

“That sounds like James,” Thomas agrees. “We’ve been together so long… we knew each other when we were young. I’ve always had him to come back to, no matter what else was going on. I can’t imagine not having that. I’d go mad, if I didn’t have  _ anyone _ who understood.”

“Eliza knows, obviously. There’s not much she can do, of course, but she understands. And Washington knows. He… makes sure I’m okay,” Alex says with difficulty. “Not-” he looks horrified.

“I know what you meant,” Jefferson assures him. “He’s your Dad, that would be… weird. I still can’t imagine not being able to go to James and say, ‘Take me out of my head, please.’ I’d lose my mind.”

“I mean, there are those who’d say I  _ have _ lost my mind,” Alex jokes.

“That’s fair,” Jefferson says. “Especially if you’re considering this, honestly. Are you, really?” he asks.

“I want to. I have to admit, when we were writing together, I thought about James… And look at what you and I accomplish, fighting at work. Imagine all of that energy, in the bedroom,” Alex suggests.

Thomas licks his lips. “It does sound good,” he says.

“So, how are we doing this?” Alex asks. “It’s your Dom’s Christmas present. This is your show.”

Thomas hadn’t honestly expected to get this far. “Okay, first, what’s your safeword? What do you absolutely hate? What do you really like?”

They discuss preferences- they’re surprisingly compatible. Adding Alex into one of their usual scenes won’t be too difficult. Thomas thinks he can do it without having to prep James in advance. He runs through a plan in his head before explaining out loud.

“If you’ll come over and wait in the parlor, we can surprise him when he comes over for supper. Do you want to eat with us, or come over afterwards?” Thomas offers.

“Seems less awkward if we have a chance to talk a little, beforehand,” Alex says.

“I agree. I just didn’t want you to feel forced,” Thomas agrees.

“I think if I can share your bed I can eat dinner with you,” Alex says.

“That will also give James long enough to come up with a plan, honestly. He’ll probably quiz you a little while we eat. I’ll make sure the servants prepare the food in advance and give them the night off, so no one needs to know you were there,” Thomas offers.

“Thank you.” Alex sounds surprised.

“No problem,” Thomas says. “I’ll prepare a few things we both enjoy and have them out, to give him some idea what you’re comfortable with  _ without _ discussing things to death. Should I prepare the guest room?” he asks.

“I can go home afterwards,” Alex tells him.

“Not an option. James will need to know you’re okay,” Thomas says. “That’s a dealbreaker, honestly. He’ll need to see you’re alright the next morning. But you can either share our bed or I’ll have a guest room ready for you.”

Alex considers this. “I guess that’s okay. I should be fine sleeping with you guys, I think. You at least don’t snore.”

“I’ll prepare a room anyway, in case you change your mind,” Thomas decides. “I don’t want you to feel trapped, at any point. I’m giving the IOU back now. This afternoon, taking the time to have this conversation with me, is me calling it in. If you do this later, you’re doing it of your own free will, not out of obligation.”

Alex looks surprised. “Wow. Okay, that actually makes me feel a little better. I didn’t feel coerced, before, but I feel… very empowered, now. Do you want to stay for dinner? You might as well get your six hours.”

“No politics at the table, and I’m in,” Jefferson agrees. “I’ll take the afternoon getting to know each other, as my prize.”

Alex laughs. “Then would you like another drink?”

Thomas accepts, and by the time he’s headed home after dinner- after accepting a second helping of trifle from a very bemused Eliza Hamilton, who he’s pretty sure he’s successfully charmed- he feels like he and Hamilton have reached a tentative… not peace, necessarily. This has nothing to do with the Cabinet. But an understanding, of sorts.

James is going to have a very interesting Christmas, at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Please, let me know what fics from the advent you'd like to see expanded for the 12 Days of Hamilton series!
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading, and I'd love to hear from you if you'd like to let me know what you thought!


	24. Revolutionary Set (+Wash?) Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're supposed to be designing a training exercise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve Eve!!!!  
> This one was so much fun to write.

They’re supposed to be designing a training exercise, for how to dig in and aim given the shifting terrain of the snow. They make some progress, figuring out how to get a steady stance on powdery snow. But they’re all picking it up, examining it, and discussing it. It’s bound to happen.

John starts it. He’s trying to figure out how long it would take to pack the snow to a perch you could rest a rifle on, when Hercules tells him, teasingly, “John, you’re a Southern boy. What do you know about snow?”

John spins, hair flying, and for a second they all think he’s pissed. He picks up a handful of snow, squeezing it into a ball as he announces, “I know it does this!”

It’s the first snowball of the afternoon, but it’s nowhere near the last. Lafayette actually buries Alex in a snowdrift at one point, and it takes a double pronged attack from John and Herc to distract him long enough for Alex to escape.

Of course, as soon as he’s out he goes after John, and Hercules turns on him as well, until they’re all chasing him. There’s no loyalty in a snowball fight, after all. John trips, and Alex is the quickest and tackles him, rolling them through the snow. Whatever he’d meant to do, John gets the upper hand quickly once they’re in motion, and he stuffs a handful of snow down Alex’s neck before scampering away.

Lafayette gives chase, and Herc takes advantage of the distraction to lay in a supply of snowballs as Alex tries to dig the snow out of his collar, shouting after John, “You just wait until I get up! You’re going to be so sorry!”

“Promises, promises! Ohhhh, you didn’t!” John calls back. Alex glances up to see that Laf has snuck up behind him, pouring two handfuls of snow over his hair. “I’m going to get you for that!” John calls, laughing.

“Non, mon ami. You see, you would have to catch me first,” Laf says, dancing out of reach.

He escapes John, only to be hit in the shoulder by one of Herc’s snowballs. “Fast is all well and good, but sometimes good aim winds the day,” Herc announces, throwing another that catches Laf full on in the chest when he turns in shock.

Alex is laughing too hard to get up for a long moment. When he finally does, Herc has turned on him. He returns fire as best he can, but he’s not taking long enough to make his snowballs and they keep separating as he throws them.

Luckily, Laf sneaks up behind Herc, trying and failing to tackle him. Alex takes advantage of the distraction and takes a moment to pack a really good, big snowball. It’s only then that he realizes he has no idea where John is. He goes still, listening to his surroundings, and realizes he hears someone moving behind him.

Alex takes a long moment to listen to the footsteps, making sure he knows exactly where they’re coming from. He’s only got one chance to surprise John and get him back.

The snowball is already flying when Alex turns fully around. Which means it hits the General full on in the face before Alex has time to process what he’s done.

He freezes, gasping in horror. John, who had actually been sneaking up on Herc and Laf, pops up from the snow, looking shocked. Herc freezes too, Laf still attached to his shoulders. Laf continues to struggle for a moment, trying to bring the mountain of a man down, before he realizes they’ve all gone quiet, looking up to see what’s happened and slipping slowly off of Herc onto the ground.

“Sir,” Alex says quietly, his voice thick. They’re supposed to be working, not playing. And he’s definitely not supposed to be throwing snowballs at the General! He wants to melt into the snow. It can take him, and they’ll find his frozen body in the Spring, still blushing with shame.

“Captain Hamilton, I hope you have something good to say for yourself, to explain this mess,” Washington says sternly. Alex looks down, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Or, barring that, a lot more snowballs!” Washington says.

Alex looks up, shocked, just in time to be hit in the face with a returning snowball.

Lafayette whoops with joy, and John bursts into laughter. Alex stares at his mentor, confused. “Sir?” he asks.

“Son, I’m not going to wait around forever. I’d suggest you arm yourself,” Washington says. His eyes are sparkling with amusement as he packs another snowball, less tightly. He lobs it at Herc, hitting him in the chest, and it’s so loosely packed it explodes, enough to hit Laf as well.

“That’s how you make a snowball,” Washington says with a wink.

Laf is already working on returning fire, and Alex ducks so he doesn’t get hit as he re-arms. His next snowball hits John, who flings a returning ball at him and hits Laf, who had been coming up behind him.

Alex doesn’t have any snowballs ready, so he grabs two handfuls of snow and just charges the bigger man. “Ahh!” he yells as he charges. It’s the battle cry that’s his downfall.

Warned by his yelling, Laf manages to grab him around the waist, the snow falling harmlessly between them. Laf turns with their momentum, launching him into a nearby drift. It’s deeper than it looks, and Alex actually struggles to climb out.

Washington offers him a hand, pulling him out. Then promptly crushes a snowball into his head. “No loyalty on the snowball field, son,” he says, grinning when Alex looks outraged. “But I’ll call truce if you’ll help me take Herc down- he’s dug himself in, and he’s got a whole pile of snowballs, I can’t get close enough on my own.”

They flank Herc, Washington providing a distraction while Alex lays in a decent stock of snowballs. Finally, he has enough and begins pelting the taller man. Herc turns to confront him, and Washington charges him from the side, kicking down the wall of loosely packed snow Herc has been hiding behind and covering him in his own defenses.

Herc flops backwards into the snow. “I give!” he cries.

Lafayette and John are just rolling around in the snow at this point, neither of them able to get a good enough grip on he other to hold him pinned, and they roll apart at Herc’s declaration.

“Works for me,” John agrees.

“Oui, je suis fini,” Laf agrees.

Washington and Alex stare each other down across the field. “Truce?” Washington asks, holding out a hand.

Alex walks forward, hand outstretched- and throws his final snowball at his mentor as soon as he’s close enough. “No loyalty in the snowball field, sir,” he says with a laugh. Then he holds up his now empty hands. “But I’m out too, now.”

“Then I suppose we should get in and warm up, before I have to explain to Congress why I have a set of blue icicles, instead of aides de camp,” Washington decides. He brushes the snow off of Alex when he comes within range, as John and Laf do the same for each other. Herc removes his whole coat, shaking it out, as Alex helps the General remove some snow from his collar.

Mama M has the fire waiting when they come in, though she gives them all a disapproving look. “Did you leave any snow outside?” she clucks. “Get out of those wet things this instant!”

They all go to their rooms to change. Everyone puts on dry breeches and sweaters- Alex borrowing a spare of Laf’s to put over his own shirt. They return to the fire in the main room, carrying their wet things, to lay out near the fire along with Washington’s.

The General is also in breeches and a sweater. They rarely see their commander dressed so casually. Today, he looks less like a commanding officer than an indulgent father.

Mama M looks far less indulgent as she clucks over them all. “If a single one of you gets sick, none of you are going to escape my wrath,” she warns, including her husband in her glare. She shakes her head. “Who started it?” she asks.

“I did, ma’am,” John admits, stepping forward. He looks nervous, awaiting her scolding.

Alex steps forward as well. “It was me who got the General involved though, Mama M,” he confesses.

She shakes her head at him, looking fond. “I’m quite sure George got himself involved, sweetheart. I don’t believe for a second that he was expecting to walk into anything but a snowball fight when he went out to find you all- otherwise, he’d have worn his hat, not a knit cap!” she says with a laugh.

Alex’s mouth drops in shock. “I admit,” Washington says, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist, “I was pretty sure you’d all wind up rolling around in the snow eventually. I’m impressed you got there so quickly, though.”

“And John,” Martha turns to look him over with a small smile, “Since you started the snowball fight, you can come help me make cocoa, and get everyone warmed back up.”

“Yes, Mama M,” John says, looking relieved. Alex can sympathize- that’s how he’d felt earlier, when Washington had thrown a snowball back, instead of yelling.

Speaking of… “You weren’t surprised I hit you at all!” he crows, as John and Mama M go to make cocoa and Laf and Herc begin laying out their wet clothes.

Washington shakes his head. “I was, actually. I fully intended to join in, but I didn’t expect to be invited to play by a face full of snow!” he says, laughing.

Alex ducks, blushing again. “I heard someone coming up behind me and I thought it was John.”

“Now there’s something with tactical uses- we can explore the ways sneaking around in the snow are different, and work on that!” Washington tells him. Alex looks up at him hopefully. “I’m sure that when we talk strategy tomorrow, you’ll all have ideas you didn’t realize you’d developed, playing out there today. But Alex, even if nothing productive came of it, you’re allowed to have fun sometimes.”

Alex shrugs. “I was afraid you’d think we were slacking,” he admits.

Washington wraps him in a one armed embrace, pulling Alex against his side. “Son, you boys work harder than any soldiers I’ve ever worked with. You’d never slack when we need you. I’m glad you let yourselves have fun, today.”

Alex turns, wrapping both arms around Washington’s waist for a quick hug. “I’m glad you came out to join us,” he says softly.

Washington strokes his hair. “I am too, son. I had fun,” he agrees.

For the sake of warmth, Laf and Herc have taken the cushions and blankets off of the seating and made a nest near the fire. They pull Alex down to join them, and Washington comes too, looking fondly amused. John brings in the cocoa a few minutes later, passing out mugs and joining them.

Mama M settles in the rocker, looking over them fondly. “Like a pile of puppies,” she says fondly. “You’ve tired yourselves out playing, and now I suppose you’ll fall asleep cuddled together?”

“I think we’ve already started,” Washington says. Indeed, Alex is slumped against his shoulder, snoring softly.

Laf has his head in Herc’s lap, and isn’t far behind. John has shifted so he and Herc can hold each other up, and he raises his head a little. “‘M awake,” he insists.

“Of course you are, dear. Now go back to sleep, I’ll keep watch,” Martha tells him fondly.

John nods, leaning back into Hercules and promptly drifting off. Herc’s head drifts down to rest on top of John’s and he’s out as well.

“They’re going to fall over,” Washington says critically.

“There are pillows behind them,” Martha assures him. She gets up, anyway, moving a few of the pillows at the edge of the grouping to Herc and John’s backs, where they’re supported and have something soft to fall back on.

“You take such good care of us,” George says fondly. “Me and our boys.”

“You’re all taking care of everyone, the least I can do is look after you,” Martha tells him. “Now hush, and let yourself have a nap.”

Washington is about to assure her he isn’t tired when he yawns. Snowball fights are exhausting- and they’ve had more than a few late nights lately, making raids on the British for supplies. Martha smirks at him knowingly.

“Alright, alright, I concede the point,” he whispers. “I could use a rest,” he admits.

“And Alex will sleep better if you settle in,” she points out.

That’s the last bit of coaxing the General needs, and he keeps a careful hand on Alexander as he lowers them both to the pile of cushions beneath them, drawing one of the blankets more securely over them.

Alex snuffles a little against his father’s shoulder, but settles quickly, wrapping an arm more securely around Washington’s waist before going still once more.

Martha looks over the group fondly- the leadership of the Continental Army. The hope of their new nation. Spread across the sitting room floor like overtired children, cuddled together for a winter nap. She’ll keep watch, indeed. She’ll keep them safe in here, so they can save everyone, out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments make me so happy! Let me know what you think!


	25. Washington and Jefferson, List/Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington arranges a Secret Santa among his inner circle. Jefferson suspects he has motivations beyond holiday cheer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an hour or two late, sorry! I was with family all day and just barely found time to write it when I got home late. It also wound up being far longer, and Jefferson-introspective, than I'd planned. All that means it's Christmas now, so Merry Christmas!!! The last fic will probably not be posted until late tonight.

“Secret Santa was a stupid idea.”

“Well, hello, Thomas. Come right in. Of course I’ve got time for a chat,” Washington says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Heedless, Thomas throws himself into one of George’s guest chairs. The older man has known him for years. He’s used to him by now. When Tom has something to say, it’s easier to just listen than to try to put him off. A fact that he shamelessly exploits now, with absolutely no chagrin.

“Secret Santa is stupid. The whole point is buying a gift for someone you might not otherwise get a gift for. And sometimes there’s a damn good reason for that,” Thomas says again.

“Are you not happy with the person you were assigned?” Washington asks blandly.

“Don’t play innocent with me. I know you engineered this, you conniving old-” Thomas says, enraged.

George cuts him off. “Finish that thought, and I’ll be telling James all about this little chat.”

Thomas huffs. There’s no use pushing. He knows George means it. What with running the country and all, he has far less time or patience for Thomas’ theatrics than he used to.

“You assigned me your little pet on purpose,” Tom huffs instead. “You were the one with the list, you picked who everyone got.”

“I assure you, the drawing was almost completely random,” George says with a straight face.

“Ha. Almost. Except for, oh, me, Hamilton, and James,” he guesses. They are the three where the most conflict is present. James got Knox, who is innocuous enough. But obviously one of them was going to draw Alexander. Washington never could let a chance for meddling pass unseized, and he does very much want his old friends and his new protege to get along.

“Well, I couldn’t put you in the position of shopping for a gift for your Dom for a work party,” George says.

Thomas huffs. “My biggest rival, on the other hand…” he grouses.

“Chin up, adversity builds character,” Washington tells him unsympathetically. “Besides, Christmas is a time for coming together. I think this will be a good chance for you to think of Alexander in a more positive light, and perhaps find some common ground. Build a little goodwill. That sort of thing.”

Thomas had suspected something like that was afoot. He rolls his eyes. He’d tried to swap with Madison- James, at least, had been  _ friends _ with the lout at one time, though Thomas shudders to imagine it- but his Dom had been infuriatingly rigid about the rules of the game. Everyone would shop for the person they’d drawn, no exceptions.

Still, he has a trick up his sleeve. If he’s going to suffer, he’s certainly not going to do it  _ alone. _ Making his problems everyone’s problems is something of a specialty of his.

“You’re right,” he says abruptly.

That actually surprises Washington, who looks across the desk at him. “I am?” he asks.

“Yes. This time of year is all about goodwill for our fellow man,” Jefferson says. “We should try to forge those relationships during the season of giving.”

Washington smiles, lulled into a false sense of security. “Yes, I think this is an excellent time for a generous spirit- and the New Year is a perfect moment for new beginnings.”

“You know,” Thomas muses, putting his feet up on Washington’s desk, “I never was entirely sure why Hamilton hated me on sight.”

George glares at his shoes pointedly. Thomas touches his chest, looking surprised. “Oh, my apologies,” he says, lowering his feet. Washington shakes his head.

“Alex didn’t hate you on sight. He was looking forward to meeting you, between me mentioning you and Lafayette’s stories. And he’s actually a big fan of your early work. Has a lot of respect for you as a writer,” Washington assures him.

Thomas snorts. He finds that hard to believe. He knows Hamilton’s type. Men like Alexander Hamilton have never met anything they could truly respect. Anything they think is good or well done, they need to tear down. They think the only way to climb is on the back of someone else, never helping anyone up. Switches like that almost seem to take their orientation as a challenge, and it’s a challenge they carry into all other areas of their life. If they aren’t Dominant all the time, they’ll be the most showy when they are. If they aren’t the smartest man in the room, they’ll be the loudest. Thomas has never had trouble putting men like that in their place, before. The trouble is that he and Hamilton  _ are _ so evenly matched.

Thomas learned to be loud because he was born soft, if not soft spoken. A serious thinker and writer, he’d despaired of ever getting anyone to listen to his ideas. Then he’d met James, who saw him for who he truly was and encouraged him to speak up. James had gotten him to speak out enough to land a seat at the Continental Convention. And once he was there, George had seen him, too, really seen him and what he was capable of- and had encouraged him to share his thoughts.

Thomas Jefferson has one very stereotypically submissive trait- he wants to take care of his people. He wants what’s best for those who are important to him. But in a very  _ un _ submissive way, he’s figured out the best way to do that isn’t to be meek, retiring, subservient. It’s to stand up for them. To protect, actively. To shout from the rooftops so that no one can look away, and force people to listen. Once they listen, after all, people tend to find that he’s making a good point. It’s just a matter of getting their ear.

He’s become an expert at the showmanship of politics, and he enjoys it. He loves outsmarting the blowhards who would never give him the time of day if they knew the truth about his orientation. And he loves the way James looks at him- possessive, proud, watching from the sidelines as Thomas works a room. He loves being the frontal assault of James’ clever plans.

“Why the disbelief?” Washington asks, drawing him back into the conversation. Ah, yes, they were talking about Hamilton.

Hamilton, who is so  _ entitled. _ Like he’s so brilliant no one should even need to  _ hear _ his ideas, to know they’re the best. Why else would he bury everyone in a hundred pages of writing when five would do?

“Because I was  _ at _ the first Cabinet meeting, and I remember what he said?” Thomas hazards, tone rife with sarcasm.

“But do you remember what you said?” Washington asks pointedly.

Thomas doesn’t, honestly. He was running on little sleep, having crossed the ocean, gotten the letter, and sped to New York, reading Hamilton’s dense financial plan on the journey. He’d attacked the plan as helping the nation at the expense of the citizens, and questioned the motivations behind such an idea. Nothing absurd.

Thomas had recognized the clever mind behind the idea, even if he didn’t support it. He’d been prepared for friendly intellectual sparring, pleased to meet someone who was truly, by all accounts, his intellectual equal. Lafayette had raved about his ‘little lion’ and promised Thomas that he would love Alexander on sight.

So he’d been primed to make a  _ friend- _ a real friend, the way Gil was, in the Cabinet. Somebody besides his Dom, who was smart enough to keep up with him and worth talking to. All of that had gone out the window in that first meeting.

Thomas would have accepted that he’d come on a little strong, and Hamilton had snapped back. The other man didn’t know him, but he could excuse the personal attacks aimed at him as reactionary- Hamilton probably wasn’t used to meeting someone who could put him on the defensive.

He has never, and will never, forgive anyone for attacking James. Especially bringing up his illness, when it had  _ killed _ Thomas to be so far from his Dom while he was poorly. A large part of his decision to seek a return back in the states, when Gil had really needed him for a few more months, had been rooted in concern over James’ health. And to see someone who James had once considered a friend, a compatriot, the  _ man who had been his Dom’s writing partner while he was gone, _ insult James, belittling that illness and those fears, was unforgivable.

So, “Whatever I said then, I’m sure it wasn’t half as harsh as the things I’ve thought since,” he says simply.

Washington chuckles darkly. “I’ll give you that. Still, this nation, and this Cabinet, need you both. And I do think this could be a good chance for you two to learn to see each other in a more positive light.”

Jefferson steeples his fingers, leaning forward. “Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not sure where I’d even begin. And if you’re hoping shopping for his gift will give me a new perspective on Hamilton, and receiving it will make him see me differently, I need to get this right, don’t I?” he asks.

George smiles hopefully. “Yes, I really think you two have far more in common than you realize, Tom.”

“Good. Then you’ll help me shop? You know him better than anyone else here, of course, and James and I have gotten so used to our view of him… I need a fresh perspective,” Thomas says.

“You could ask Dolley. She spends quite a bit of time with the Hamiltons,” George suggests.

“Dolley has given me her thoughts on Hamilton more than once. They haven’t mattered. I’m willing to really listen to you about him now, because I need your help. Are you too busy?” Jefferson asks solicitously.

“It is for the good of the Cabinet…” Washington trails off.

Game, set, match.

“Great! Thank you so much, George!” he says. “I’ve got to get back to work, when does your last meeting let out?” he asks.

“Alex and I have a three o’clock, but-” Washington begins. Oh, this is better than he’d hoped.

“Then I’ll swing by around four and we can go,” Thomas says eagerly. “I really can’t thank you enough for your help. And I don’t have a lot of free time coming up, so it’s perfect that you’re available this afternoon.”

He’s backed George into a corner. George frowns at him, fully aware he’s being manipulated. “I’m surprised you’re so eager for my help,” the older man tells him.

“I want to get this right,” Thomas says, innocent.

He may have oversold it. Washington is looking suspicious. “Four o’clock, then,” the President says.

“Four o’clock,” Jefferson agrees, getting up out of the other man’s guest chair. “I’ll look forward to it.”

And he will. Not only is he going to drag George across the town shopping on one of the busiest days of the year as payback for sticking him with Alexander for Secret Santa, he’s going to be able to barge in on their meeting- Hamilton has never made any point in his life in under an hour- and drag George off on an errand they can’t discuss, what with the secrecy of the game and all. It’ll drive Hamilton  _ nuts. _

***

Thomas lets himself into George’s office at 4:00 on the dot, without knocking. The President is expecting him, after all.

“We’re in the middle of something, here,” Hamilton says sharply.

“Yes, well, George and I have plans, and I’m afraid they’re somewhat time sensitive,” Thomas says mysteriously. Hamilton’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

He apparently decides his best bet is to ignore Thomas entirely and appeal to their boss. “Sir,” he whines.

Thomas  _ hates _ the way Hamilton whines at the President to get his way. It’s like he’s playing up the ‘young, sometimes submissive’ thing, to manipulate Washington into giving him his way instead of just  _ earning _ whatever he wants.

“George,” he says silkily, before the President can answer- Hamilton’s eyes widen slightly at his use of the other man’s given name, which he’s always used during social occasions but not work related ones- “if that idea of yours we were discussing earlier is less important than this, I can go. But this is the only chance I’ve got to do the thing right.”

Washington shoots him an unimpressed look, but says, “Alex, I’m sorry, I did promise Thomas we’d go at four.” He clasps the younger man’s arm, when Hamilton looks like he’s going to object. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow, alright? First thing.” Hamilton still looks mutinous.

“Tom, would you give me just five minutes, and I’ll meet you out front?” Washington says. Hamilton looks surprised again to hear the President call him by a nickname. Jefferson smiles- this is already going splendidly.

“Of course,” he says. “Hamilton,” he nods, the picture of decorum, and goes outside to wait.

As he’s walking out, he hears, “What ideas are you sharing with  _ him _ that you haven’t told  _ me?” _

Obviously Hamilton is put out. Good. He relies so frequently on his wartime bond with Washington to get his way, it’s good to remind him that some of them have known each other longer- and better. He’s not the only one who has the President’s ear, from time to time.

***

Washington looks more than a bit put out when he exits the building five minutes later. “Would you like to tell me  _ why _ you are so determined that I come shopping with you?” he asks sternly, arms crossed. “I know you’re up to something.”

Thomas looks down. “I suppose I thought you got me into this mess, so I’d make you help me get back out of it,” he admits. 

Washington shakes his head. “Secret Santa isn’t actually supposed to be an ordeal,” he says.

“George, you gave me  _ Hamilton. _ Whatever I pick is going to be scrutinized in a thousand different ways, every  _ potential _ meaning and thought behind it analyzed, and, if possible, thrown back in my face at the earliest opportunity,” Thomas points out.

“He really isn’t that bad,” Washington argues.

“Really? Name one thing, ever, that he hasn’t overthought to death,” Thomas counters.

George doesn’t even try. “You see? We’re constantly pushing against each other, and this is a  _ very _ easy chance for me to hand him ammunition without realizing it,” Thomas sighs.

“Let’s get coffee,” Washington suggests. “We’ll talk a bit, before we go shopping. There are some things about Alexander- I can’t share much, but I think I can give you some insight.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Thomas says. Unfortunately, a life lived in the public eye means he feels like an open book to Hamilton. He, on the other hand, has no idea what makes the Secretary of Treasury tick.

They find seats in a coffee shop and order a pot. George jumps right in. “You know that he’s functionally my son,” he says delicately.

“Yes, I think we’ve all picked up on that,” Thomas admits.

“We do try to keep work and family separate. And he’s  _ not _ in his post for  _ any _ reason besides that he’s the best man for the job,” Washington insists.

“I may disagree with him on policy, but I’ll give you that he’s brilliant,” Tom agrees.

“He was born on the islands. Nevis. A hurricane devastated the area. Alex… he was an orphan. Young, alone, his home destroyed. He wrote a letter, about it all, that was published in a newspaper. There was no future for him on the island, but the people who read his work believed he had the potential to do something more, so they sent him here,” Washington explains.

Ah, ‘brilliant child’ syndrome. Hamilton was told so often so young that he was special, and amazing, that he expects those accolades from everyone now. No wonder he resents Thomas- not only does he distract from Hamilton, he’s not in awe of him. No doubt, being told he was ‘too good’ for the place he was born over-inflated his ego.

“In the war, he was the cleverest man I’ve ever served with, and the most fiercely loyal. And some days, I thought he had the most extreme death wish.” Washington shakes his head. “But we made it through. And there’s no one I trust more. I know you two disagree on the  _ how _ of things a lot. But I truly believe you both want the same  _ what- _ what’s best for the people of America.”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” Tom says.

“He’d say the same about you. I knew you were going to butt heads, you know,” George tells him.

“Really? Gil told me we’d be fast friends,” Thomas asks.

“You’re too alike,” Washington shakes his head. “You’re coming from completely different places, geographically and ideologically, but you’re thinking and problem solving the exact same way.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Really? That  _ is _ interesting.” He ponders this idea. “And… it gives me somewhere to start.”

“Well, good, then should we get shopping?” George offers.

Washington insists on paying for their coffee- not because he’s the Dom, just because he’s the one who suggested they have a drink. Thomas gives way gracefully- if there’s one man he’s sure has never looked down on him for his orientation, despite knowing he truly is a submissive, it’s Washington.

Thomas drags Washington to a stationary shop. His original goal was to give Hamilton a gift he’d hate and annoy him in the process. Now, he’s got a new idea. He’s going to give him something great, that will wow everyone- but find a way to make it slightly annoying for Alexander, so that every time he uses it, he remembers Thomas. And being shown up in the Secret Santa contest.

The stationary shop he’s looking for is a specific one- it’s owned by a French expat, and it’s where he recently discovered a new tool he’s sure Hamilton will  _ love. _

“We passed two other stationary shops on the way here,” Washington notes as they step inside.

“Yes, but one of the French army officers has come up with something clever, and this is the only place locally where I’ve found it,” Thomas explains.

“I’m going to be late for supper, and I didn’t warn Martha and the grandchildren,” Washington worries. He’s always been devoted to his family. Thomas admires that about him.

“Let me show you what I’m thinking of, and then you can go,” he promises. He doesn’t want Martha Washington upset with him for keeping George out, after all.

The shop has a case of small, fine leather notebooks. He shows them to Washington with a grin.

The President raises an eyebrow. “The pages are tiny. Alex could hardly scribble one speech in one of those.”

“They aren’t for fully formed writing. They’re for jotting down ideas, on the fly, and being able to keep track of them,” he explains, pulling his own out of his pocket. “They’re meant to be carried on your person.”

Washington frowns. “What’s the point? You won’t necessarily have a quill handy,” he observes.

“Remember I said the French were onto something new? Well, graphite is all well and good for writing marks that stay longer than chalk, but it makes a dreadful mess. Impractical. Except they’ve figured out how to put it in wood so it contains the mess. You just scrape off some of the wood with a knife when you need more,” he explains. Thomas flips his notebook open, showing Washington. “The words stay put,” he scrubs a thumb across the page to demonstrate, “and they don’t need to dry.”

“Alex will  _ love _ it,” George tells him.

Thomas smiles. “Good.” Objective one: show Alexander, and everyone, up at the gift exchange. Washington’s reaction makes him sure he’s going to outshine most of the gifts of alcohol, sweets, or more common office supplies. “Go ahead and go home, then, George, I can buy it on my own. I don’t want to keep you. Give Martha my love.”

“Of course,” Washington says. He squeezes Thomas’ arm. “I’m proud of you for putting you two’s differences aside and coming up with a great gift, for this. And I think Alex will be impressed.”

Thomas smiles. To be perfectly honest, he’s felt like, in all of the conflict with the other Secretary, he’s lost touch with his old friend George. It’s nice to have his approval, and get to spend a little time with him today. Even if they have been mostly talking about Hamilton.

Washington is apparently thinking along the same lines. “I already know when I give Martha your message she’s going to tell me it’s been too long since she’s seen you. I know the holidays are crazy, but we’d love to have you over for dinner, once we get through them.”

Thomas smiles. “I’d like that. And, to stay in Martha’s good graces, I’m going to chase you out the door now, so you can get home to your beautiful wife!”

Washington laughs, tells him goodbye one final time, and goes.

Thomas turns again to the notebooks. He’d thought something in the dark pink/maroon family would annoy Hamilton by making him think of Thomas every time he looked at it, while at the same time being such a cool gift he wouldn’t be able to resist using it. In light of George’s praise, though, that feels like a little too ‘on the nose’ of a prank.

He still wants to get something that isn’t  _ perfectly _ Hamilton’s usual aesthetic, as a reminder that Jefferson of all people picked it out. He lands on a soft, light blue- if Hamilton overanalyzes this gift, hopefully he’ll think ‘baby blue’ and deliver the punchline about ‘whining to daddy when he doesn’t get his way’ in his own head- and has it and a selection of the wooden pencils wrapped up, ready to be gifted at the Cabinet holiday party in two days time.

***

Thomas was right. Most of the gifts have been liquor or wine, rendering the guessing silly, at best. The first surprise is James’ gift.

“You got… a bucket?” Thomas asks.

But James’ eyes have lit up. “Alex, you didn’t!” he says.

_ Alex _ looks shyly pleased. “I remembered how much you liked it, when Eliza made some with the one Laf sent me, so I brought it to a craftsman and had him make you one, too. I had Eliza write down the recipe for you, too,” he says.

“What are we looking at?” Knox asks.

“A  sabotiere,” Hamilton explains. “A french device for making ice cream. You put the ingredients in the inner bucket, then fill the outer with ice and salt and agitate it.”

Thomas would like to be annoyed- so far, Alex is definitely winning most thoughtful, interesting gift, and his own won’t be quite the coup he’d envisioned, though he still thinks he’ll win the day. But he can’t be displeased that his plan to show off has failed when his Dom looks so excited about his new toy.

“I can hardly wait to try it, Alex. Thank you,” he says. Alex again. Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever heard James call Hamilton by a nickname before.

As they’ve been playing, Hamilton’s gift being opened means it’s his turn to open the next present. He opens his gift and frowns. “A tiny notebook? Is this supposed to be some sort of comment on my intellect or my thoughts, Jefferson? Because only someone as small minded as you-”

“Alexander!” Washington scolds. The Treasury Secretary looks furious, but holds his tongue.

“Right gifter, wrong reasoning. Though telling,” Thomas says. “It’s portable, so you have somewhere to record quick ideas, to flesh out later. The little pieces of wood- look, there’s graphite inside of them. A pencil, the mess free writing utensil you can carry in your pocket,” he explains.

Alexander’s eyes go wide. “Wow. I, um, I apologize, Jefferson. I spoke out of turn, this is a very thoughtful gift. And clever- I’m sure I’ll get great use out of it,” he says, ducking his head.

“Think of it no more,” Thomas says, waving the apology off. He finds he’s actually pleased by the other man’s genuine excitement at the gift, after Hamilton gave James such joy with his. And it doesn’t hurt that Alexander embarrassed himself without any help from him, either, with his temper.

“And how did you pick the color?” Hamilton asks, touching the notebook cover softly. “It’s Philip’s favorite shade, exactly.”

“A happy coincidence. I only thought it would stand out amongst your things and so be easier to find,” Jefferson tells him with a smile.

“Thank you,” Hamilton tells him, quiet and sincere.

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says. He accepts the pleased look Washington shoots him with a nod, then exchanges a smile with James, pleased that he’s done well. He may not like Hamilton, but it’s Christmas, after all. What’s wrong with spreading a little cheer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Please let me know what you think, this was fun to write and I love hearing from you guys!


	26. Washington&Hamilton Jefferson/Madison, Christmas In The Capitol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas in the Capitol while Washington's President, and there's a Christmas party on New Years Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody! The last advent fic!

They’ve developed a habit of wrapping up every workday with a check in. Nothing major. If Alex leaves at a reasonable time, he sticks his head in to say goodnight to the General. If Washington hasn’t seen him when he’s heading out, he stops by Alex’s office to prod him out the door and see how he’s doing. Alex cherishes that time, because it’s not President Washington and Secretary Hamilton- it’s  _ them. _

Today, he comes to see Washington at the end of the day frustrated and full of complaints. He’s got a Christmas party invitation clutched in his fist- some official government to-do, at the Executive Mansion. On Christmas Eve. Alex knows it will be nothing like Christmas  _ Day _ at the Washingtons’ official residence, which will be full of family and warmth and fun. This will be one of those stuffy, handshaking affairs. And it’ll mean leaving Philip at home without them, on Christmas Eve. He’s not looking forward to it.

“Are you absolutely sure I have to go to this stupid thing?” he whines, waving the invitation at his surrogate father as he collapses into his guest chair, pouting.

Washington, well used to his dramatics, doesn’t even look up from what he’s writing. “Completely. It’s mandatory for all members of the Cabinet.”

“I fail to see how a Christmas party could possibly be official government business.” Alex does his best to sound convincing.

Washington isn’t buying it, but he does put down his quill and look up, meeting his eyes with a sympathetic, if resolute, expression. “It’s good public relations.”

“Spending  _ Christmas Eve _ with a bunch of politicians I can’t stand, instead of the people I love?” Alex is whining. He can’t help it.

“Some of the people you love will be there.” Washington does have a point. He’ll be there, and Martha. And Alex could hardly arrive without Eliza. That’s most of the people he wants to spend Christmas Eve with, just minus Philip and Maria. But they’ll be diluted by the dozens of people Alex  _ doesn’t _ want to spend the holidays with.

“Fair point,” he acknowledges. “But you’re going to make me work the room instead of staying close, aren’t you?”

“Not talking to people would defeat the entire point of going.” Washington is always so damned reasonable, when he wants Alex to do something. Unfortunately, that means all of Alex’s arguments usually boil down to one thing:

“I still don’t like it.” Alex wants that clear.

The General looks him up and down, understanding but unyielding. “I know you don’t. But I’m telling you it’s important.” That’s the trouble with Washington- he doesn’t order Alex around, unless he’s already failed to make good choices on his own.

And Alex does hate to disappoint him. He blows out an explosive breath. “Sometimes, you make it really hard to listen to you.”

“I know. I am aware of what I’m asking. I’ll make it up to you on Christmas Day.” Washington unbends and gives him an indulgent grin. As Mama M occasionally points out, the General spoils him shamelessly. Which doesn’t even hold a  _ candle _ to how they both treat Philip.

“I want hot cocoa,” Alex wheedles. Washington knows what he means- he wants all of them, together, warm and cuddled close, sipping Martha’s special hot cocoa around a warm fire. No other feeling has ever quite meant  _ home _ to him like that one. Wherever they are- at war or in New York or Mount Vernon- hot cocoa and Mama M mean he’s home.

Washington shakes his head fondly. Alex is well aware hot cocoa was always in the cards for Christmas morning, but he smiles at his mentor, unrepentant. It never hurts to be sure. “Whatever you say,” the General promises.

Satisfied, Alex stands and bids him goodbye. Going to see Washington had done nothing to get him out of the damned party, but he’d known it wouldn’t even before he’d come in. He does feel better, at least, to have been heard out, though. And hot cocoa certainly doesn’t hurt. He wonders if they can just spend the night, so they can all wake up together on Christmas morning. It’s something to ask about, certainly.

***

“Are you absolutely sure I have to go to this stupid thing?” Thomas asks, flitting through James’ closet. He’s trying to find the waistcoat he wants James to wear, to match Dolley’s new dress and coordinate with the embroidery on his own coat. They can’t all dress in matching outfits, but the details make him feel a little less alone. Dolley indulges him- and picks most of his clothes, honestly- so even if he can’t go to formal events on his Dom’s arm, he can attend feeling connected to James.

“Completely. It’s mandatory for all members of the Cabinet.” James bats away a cravat Thomas tosses in frustration, turning him away from the wardrobe and looking him in the eye.

“I fail to see how a Christmas party could possibly be official government business.” Thomas is trying to dodge his Dom’s concerned look.

“It’s good public relations.” James isn’t buying it, and dismisses his paltry complaint out of hand. They both know exactly how important these sorts of events are.

“Spending  _ Christmas Eve _ with a bunch of politicians I can’t stand, instead of the people I love?” In New York, instead of Virginia, he means. One of the things he’d most looked forward to, coming back from France, was Christmas at Monticello. He and James had a proper fight about staying in the city over the holidays a few days ago. Thomas isn’t sure they’re truly past it.

His Dom seems to sense his insecurity. “Some of the people you love will be there,” he points out, kissing Thomas distractingly.

When James is done, it takes him a moment to remember what point he’d been trying to make. “Fair point. But you’re going to make me work the room instead of staying close, aren’t you?”

“Not talking to people would defeat the entire point of going.” James is annoyingly thorough, when he’s proving a point. His thoroughness is much more appreciated with the way he’s methodically undressing Thomas as they talk, leading him back towards the bed.

“I still don’t like it.” A weak protest, and they both know it.

“I know you don’t. But I’m telling you it’s important.” James pushes Thomas’ shirt off his shoulders, laving at a nipple. Thomas tries to hold on to his picque.

“Sometimes, you make it really hard to listen to you.” His head falls back as he says it, undone by a careful, maddeningly thorough tongue.

James pushes him back into the bed, following him down and kneeling over him to say, “I know. I am aware of what I’m asking. I’ll make it up to you on Christmas Day.”

“I want hot cocoa.” It’s utterly nonsensical, as far as requests go. Thomas just feels compelled to win  _ some _ ground, here.

“Whatever you say.” With that, James leans back down to kiss him again, and all thought of waistcoats and holiday parties flies from Tom’s head.

****

“Having fun?” Thomas asks, giving Hamilton a derisive look.

The Treasury Secretary takes a deep pull of his drink, gathering his strength to deal with his rival. He did promise Washington he’d be on his best behavior, tonight. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“I don’t see how you can possibly get so much joy out of showing off at events like this,” Thomas says resentfully. Sure, he’s making the rounds, making it look good, but he hates the superficiality of it. Sometimes, he thinks Hamilton  _ lives _ for the superficial.

“Life is nothing more than an illusion.” Why does he quote Macbeth when he’s stressed? It’s nonsense.

“Did you seriously just quote Shakespeare at me?” Thomas’ voice is flat, but his raised eyebrow shows just how unimpressed he is. Any fool can  _ recite. _

Alex adjusts his cuffs, feeling suddenly awkward. He never knows what to say to the Secretary of State. “I’m not enjoying this any more than you are,” he admits.

“Well, then you’re a better actor than I’ll ever be.” That was almost a compliment. Jefferson glares fiercely to make up for it.

“I’m better at a lot of things than you’ll ever be.” Quipping and sniping, Alex can do. Real conversation, with Thomas Jefferson, who he’d so admired when he first got to the States, who’d hated him on sight, is a lot harder.

“Overdressing, for example.” Thomas snorts it, taking in Hamilton’s rich, silk suit. He recognizes the cut as something with far more French influence than most American tailors dabble in. It makes him miss Europe.

“You’re one to talk.” Alex looks pointedly at Thomas’ ornately embroidered coat, the coordinated embroidery on his cravat and sleeves. How the man has the gall to call him overdressed, he’ll never know.

Thomas is about to make a sarcastic remark about sow’s ear purses when he sees two figures approaching, over Hamilton’s shoulder. “Washington and Madison are headed this way.” There’s Alexander’s Christmas gift- he’s warned him, instead of winding him up to get caught out being obnoxious.

“Truce?” Alex offers, holding out his hand awkwardly.

The  _ child _ wants to shake on it? Jefferson sighs, but gives in, shaking his hand briefly. “Fine, deal. So, what are your plans for Christmas Day?” he asks, annoyed. He can’t walk off right as James walks over without raising alarm bells for his Dom.

“I’m looking forward to spending it with my family, instead of trying to impress other people so they’ll listen to me when I have a plan  _ our country needs.” _ Alex’s resentment comes through in his tone, he can’t help it.

Thomas hadn’t expected to find understanding chatting with Hamilton, of all people. “That’s… pretty much exactly my sentiment, too.” He’s about to expand on the thought when James and the President reach them.

“Merry Christmas, gentlemen. How are you doing?” Washington asks.

“Great!” Hamilton’s reply comes out a bit too quickly. He bites his lip, as Jefferson nudges him with his elbow.

“Just chatting.” The Secretary of State’s voice is smooth, a contrast to the overly bright tone Hamilton had adopted.

“I didn’t expect to find you two deep in conversation,” Madison says suspiciously.

“Sometimes, it’s good to talk to someone who gets it,” Alex says, shooting Jefferson a long look of knowing annoyance and empathy.

Thomas returns it with one of his own. “Yeah, it really is.”

***

Alex wound up spending the night in his bedroom at the Washington’s, while Eliza went home to have the night with Maria, since he’d monopolized her all evening. So Washington wakes him up first thing in the morning.

“Merry Christmas!” The General is positively chipper.

“Ugh, how do you sound so cheerful this early?” Alex buries his head in a pillow. He’d been expected to stick it out until the bitter end- and he hadn’t been sure Governor Clinton was  _ ever _ going to get the hint and leave. Then, they’d prepared the family sitting room for Philip’s Christmas morning when he arrives. He’d had fun, preparing his son’s surprises with Washington’s help, but it had made for a very late night.

“It’s Christmas. Come on, we’re expected downstairs.” The General’s cheerfulness doesn’t wane.

“Ugh, I’ll be dressed in just a minute.” Alex sits up reluctantly.

Washington heads for the door, now that he’s sure Alex is up. “Hurry, we’ll be waiting.”

Alex puts his feet on the floor, and notices Washington had left something on his bedside table. “Hey, is that?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” the General teases him, holding his own mug aloft. Now, he knows he has Alex’s attention. Cocoa in front of the fire is worth getting up for.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” Starting the morning on this note makes up for how he’d spent last night.

The General smiles fondly. “You’re welcome.”

“I mean, I guess I did earn it,” Alex teases.

“You were on your best behavior last night. Even with certain other Cabinet Secretaries, who shall remain nameless.” Washington’s voice is lightly teasing in return, but also pleased. Alex grins, lighting up in response to Washington’s proud smile.

“Good. It’s a perfect Christmas morning, and I’ve got cocoa. Don’t say his name, you’ll ruin it,” Alex says, clutching his mug protectively.

Washington laughs. “You’re ridiculous. You’ve got to come down eventually. There are presents to open, after all!”

“I’ll be right down.” Alex takes a sip of his mug, then walks over to the wardrobe to begin getting dressed, calling as the General leaves, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Washington says in return, closing the door behind him. Alex smiles, taking a sip of his cocoa as he decides what to wear. Maybe Christmas in the Capitol isn’t so bad after all.

***

Thomas is woken up by a kiss. “Merry Christmas!” James’ face smiles at him from the pillow beside his own when he reluctantly opens his eyes.

“Ugh, how do you sound so cheerful this early?” Thomas rolls over, hiding from the day.

“It’s Christmas. Come on, we’re expected downstairs.” James kisses his shoulder before getting up. Thomas does turn over enough to appreciate the strong, clean lines of his Dom’s naked body. They hadn’t bothered getting dressed when they were done, last night.

James gets out clothes for both of them, laying Thomas’ out for him and smacking his ass to get him moving, when he doesn’t get out of bed on his own.

“Ugh, I’ll be dressed in just a minute,” Thomas sighs, sitting up reluctantly. Though he notices James is pulling on his robe, not his clothes, which makes his next words distinctly unbelievable.

“Hurry, we’ll be waiting.” James is trying to talk him out of bed, but he also clearly has no intention of leaving Thomas alone- he’s well aware that if he does, Tom will go right back to sleep and miss Christmas morning entirely.

Before he can point out how transparent his Dom’s ploy is, there’s a knock on the door. Thomas pulls the sheets up over himself so James can answer, taking a tray from one of the servant girls and bringing it to the bedside.

Thomas peers at the tray in surprise. Breakfast- in their room? They usually eat downstairs with Dolley, on the rare nights he sleeps over here, instead of James joining him at his home. “Hey, is that?” he asks, smelling the steaming liquid James is pouring into cups appreciatively.

“I promised, didn’t I?” James winks, putting the tray ove Thomas’ legs and shedding his robe to slip back into bed with him. Thomas takes his cup and sips it, humming in pleasure. It’s cocoa- his silly request, the other day.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” He kisses his Dom in thanks, when James leans over to get his own drink. Then, he notices a card on the tray and picks it up.  _ Tom, _ it says in Dolley’s flowing script,  _ I had him all to myself yesterday. You two take a leisurely morning before you come down. James said he promised you a treat. _

“You’re welcome,” his Dom says, giving him another peck and taking a piece of bacon to munch on.

“I mean, I guess I did earn it,” Thomas says teasingly, leaning his shoulder against James’.

“You were on your best behavior last night. Even with certain other Cabinet Secretaries, who shall remain nameless.” James’ tone makes it clear that rewards will be forthcoming later, for his restraint. He’s glad he agreed to the truce, instead of winding Alexander up to see him spin out last night.

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his cocoa and his Dom’s warmth in bed with him. “Good. It’s a perfect Christmas morning, and I’ve got cocoa. Don’t say his name, you’ll ruin it.”

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve got to come down eventually. There are presents to open, after all!” James reminds him, smiling.

Thomas knows, but for now he can’t imagine anything under the tree that he wants more than this simple moment. “I’ll be right down,” he says with a lazy wave. James snorts. They both know he’s not getting out of bed anytime soon, especially when breakfast came to them and they have Dolley’s blessing. “Merry Christmas,” he says, kissing his Dom deeply.

“Merry Christmas.” James kisses him again, then leans over to steal a triangle of toast. A perfect Christmas morning, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one weird- I wrote the dialogue last night.
> 
> Then, I copied the first section for the second section, and did the same dialogue with Wash/Ham as I did with TJ/Mads. Same with the fourth and fifth sections. The third section, I wrote with no clue who would be which set of dialogue and literally flipped a coin, then wrote the scene around the dialogue.
> 
> I've been thinking a lot lately about how much TJ and A.Ham really do have in common, and this was a fun way to play with that.
> 
> Thank you all for coming on this crazy Christmas ride with me! I'll be doing the Twelve Days of Hamilton through Epiphany (The Washingtons' Wedding Day!) with follow up fic from these stories, so if there's one you'd like follow up to, PLEASE let me know! And even if not, I'd love to hear what your favorite one shot was, or which characters you enjoyed seeing in these, anything! I'm always curious to know what you guys like.


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